


I Remember...I Remember...

by MadnessofVoid



Series: Sterek Bingo 2017 [7]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Celtic Mythology & Folklore, Derek remembers Stiles, Derek to the Rescue, Fix-It, Fix-It of Sorts, Kira didn't leave, Magic!Stiles, Mythology - Freeform, Other, POV Derek, POV Derek Hale, Season/Series 06, Sterek Bingo 2017, Stiles Stilinski is Derek Hale's Anchor, Wild Hunt (Teen Wolf), Wild Hunt Lore, can't say what stiles is coz that is a spoiler, no nazi alpha
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-15
Updated: 2017-05-23
Packaged: 2018-11-01 05:08:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 32,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10914951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MadnessofVoid/pseuds/MadnessofVoid
Summary: Derek snapped his eyes open, unleashing the breath he didn't know was held. How...how did he forget him?! How could he forget Stiles!?orSeason 6A gets a makeover





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Season 6A...not a huge fan. They did some cool concepts, but it was still one of my least favorite seasons. I understand why Derek wasn't there, but in reality, if things were perfect, he would be there. AND they would've taken up the many openings for a reveal that Stiles is something! Also, let's not forget the questions that we had no answers to. 
> 
> So, because I am insane, I made my Derek Returns theme on the Sterek Bingo card into this monster. I originally was going to leave it as is but...welp...I decided to make it a little easier on everyone (and myself) and divide it into chapters. Easier to chew. I hope. ^^; 
> 
> Anyways...I hope you enjoy, and I hope all the explanations I had pulled out of thin air makes some sense, or at least is interesting ^^;

Derek woke up on Thursday feeling off. Like something was missing. It...ached. Maybe it was another one of those hard days he sometimes had. Despite being as far from Beacon Hills as he could be, despite getting the help he knew he needed...he still had hard days. This was probably just another one of them.

 

As he wandered around his apartment, groggy and starving, it soon became abundantly clear that this was more than just an off day.

 

Something was very wrong if his claws were popped out when he went to grab his cereal. Something was very wrong if he felt his chest seize and his mind go blurry momentarily. Something was very wrong if he felt his face shift. Something was very wrong if he fell into his wolf form without his say so.

 

This kind of thing hadn't happened since he was fifteen...and Paige had died. He paced his apartment as a wolf, whining and snarling. What the hell was going on? Why wasn't he in control? What happened to his anchor?!

 

He plopped down on the floor of his bedroom, whining louder and throwing his paws over his muzzle. He tried to focus, find that anchor that had served him so well. That made his control, his grip on his humanity, so easy that he wondered how he had made it through life without it. But when he searched for it...all he found was blank spaces. Emptiness.

 

A low rumble of frustration left him. What in the ever living hell was going on? What happened to his anchor? Where was it!?

 

What...what had it even been in the first place...?

 

**~+~**

 

Two hours. It took _two hours_ for Derek to finally shift back to his bipedal form. He felt dizzy, exhausted. Most of all – confused.

 

He called his job, explaining that he had come down with a nasty bug and there was no way he could come into work for a while. Fortunately, they wished him well and told him to take all the time that he needed to come back in tip-top shape. The perks of being a werewolf and accumulating unused sick days. Hopefully...this would clear up before he would have to leave society for good. (As tempting as it sounded, the Druid therapist said he couldn't hide from his problems. And mingling with people was a rather large problem for him.)

 

Again, Derek paced his apartment, reciting the mantra he learned to keep control:  _The sun, the moon, the truth_. _The sun, the moon, the truth_. _The sun, the moon, the_ -

 

Wait...

 

That wasn't the mantra he was taught as a young pup. The mantra he was taught was _alpha, beta, omega_. Where did this _the sun, the moon, the truth_ come from? Derek sat down on the couch, brows knitted in confusion. He racked his brain for where the hell he heard that from. He immediately thought of Satomi-san, since she did follow many Buddhist ideologies. But...he didn't recall her saying it to him. By the time he could have a memory of her, he was mostly under control and she didn't need to give him the mantra.

 

So where...

 

“ _Derek...I don't think alpha, beta, omega is resonating with him!”_

 

He perked up, startled. Someone was in his apartment. How was there someone in his apartment? How did he not hear them sneak in?!

 

Derek rose to his feet, trying to keep his breathing even as he wandered around. No heartbeat. No breathing. With the exception of him...there was nothing. No one else. So where did that voice come from?

 

“ _Yeah, I do. Liam! Liam, what three things cannot long be hidden?”_

 

He hovered outside the door of his room, head tilted to the side to listen. That voice sounded strangely familiar. And of course he remembered Scott's beta with the anger problem. But...the voice...the itching familiarity of what the urgency sounded like...

 

“ _Liam! Listen! Liam, look at me!”_

 

For some reason, his heart spiked. A scent of spices and loneliness slammed him. The ghost of hands around him, trying to protect him, sent electricity down his spine.

 

“ _What three things cannot long be hidden!? What three things?”_

 

“The sun, the moon...the truth...”

 

“ _That's good. Say it again.”_

 

Derek closed his eyes, resting his forehead on the door. “The sun...the moon...the truth...”

 

He felt a clap on his shoulder. A clap that said 'good job, big guy'. It felt...comforting. Felt like he knew it from somewhere. The scent of spices and loneliness clouded his senses. Followed by a spike of anxiety. Derek groaned, wrinkling his nose up and snorted in an attempt to get rid of it. The spices smelled warm and welcoming, but the loneliness reminded him of his own. And that anxiety? Made him dizzier.

 

“ _Can't you trust me just this once?”_

 

“I'll always trust you...”

 

He jolted upright, eyes wide in bewilderment and mind racing. What was going on? Why was he hearing all of this? Was he hallucinating? Was someone messing with his head?

 

Furious at the thought, he swung open the door to his room, snarling and ready to pounce. Only...no one was there. And there wasn't a scent trail to be found. Still, he rushed inside and tore it apart, searching angrily for the source of whatever was happening to him.

 

For once, just _once_ , could someone not hurt him?

 

Derek fell to the floor, pulling at his hair and heaving out huffy breaths. Why did people always have to do this kind of crap to him? Hadn't he suffered enough? Been through enough?

 

But somewhere, in the back of his mind, he felt like this wasn't a trick. That something had been stolen from him, and it was trying to come back. Trying so hard...

 

“ _Hey...it's okay, big guy. We'll find them. We'll find them.”_

 

He gripped tighter at his hair, gritting his teeth and trying not to scream. The comforting sound of that voice...why was it so familiar? What was happening? _Why_ was it happening? It made his head and heart ache. Mostly because he somehow _missed_ that voice and its sound.

 

Missed it deeply...

 

**~+~**

 

The unexpected nap was supposed to help. Prove that he had been dreaming the entire time and that he had nothing to worry about.

 

That's not what happened.

 

Instead, when he woke, he felt empty. Like something that was a part of him was snatched away. He knew the feeling all too well. Experienced it more times than he liked to admit. But this time was different. An itch in his brain instead of a physical loss.

 

The difference between his reaction now from his reaction of earlier was that he had a clearer head.

 

He sat there, eyes closed once more. He searched through his memory. Searched for what he felt was gone. And, immediately, he noticed there were blotches in his past. A face he couldn't see with a scent he knew. Strange. This was nothing like what happened to him in Mexico. This was different. _Terrifying_. He focused harder on those blotches, fighting to discover what the hell. Discover what was missing.

 

Out of nowhere, a flood of that voice slammed into him. Bleeding in and out of each other right as the first finished.

 

 

“ _Don't be such a sourwolf!”_

 

“ _I know Scott will never tell you this...so I am. I'm sorry...for what we did to Laura...”_

 

“ _How about a little werewolf strength?!”_

 

“ _Does your face hurt when you smile? Like...does it have a heart attack when you decided to stop frowning?”_

 

“ _Um...my cousin...Miguel.”_

 

“ _Okay, just so you know, I'm not afraid of you.”_

 

“ _Derek...you can't keep blaming yourself. And I know that's hypocritical of me to say but...maybe it's something we could work on together? Y'know...like therapy buddies. Without the actual therapy office.”_

 

“ _Positivity just isn't in your vocabulary, is it?”_

 

“ _Big Bad Wolf. Yeah, look at that.”_

 

“ _Oh my god, you bake?! Oh my god...you do something happy!?”_

 

“ _An abomination...”_

 

“ _Are you ever coming back?”_

 

 

The onslaught of words slowed. In their place...a less than perfect scene.

 

Derek was back in the loft, hunching over his poor excuse of a table. He was staring at a map of Beacon Hills. It was riddled with X's in a bright, angry red. Places searched. Places found void of his two missing betas. He could feel the anxiety and guilt. The frustration of not being able to find them. The feeling of angst their families must have been going through. And it was all his fault...

 

He felt a light tap on his shoulder, before a hand wrapped around it and squeezed. He glanced over, meeting the face of the person grounding him down. At first, it was blurry. Hard to distinguish. Then, it smoothed out. Smoothed into a pale face dotted with a constellation of moles, bow lips swollen from worried bites, an upturned nose, whiskey colored doe eyes flickering with sympathy, and brown hair starting to grow out from a buzz cut. A face that brought forth a lot of emotions. Emotions that should've been long forgotten.

 

“ _Anything new, big guy?”_

 

Derek snapped his eyes open, unleashing the breath he didn't know was held. How...how did he forget him?! How could he forget _Stiles_!?

 

He vaulted over his bed, going for his phone. Frantically, he dialed Stiles' number, having it memorized by heart. Something was going on with Stiles. _Again_. He had to find out now before it was too late.

 

 

_We're sorry. Your call cannot be completed as dialed. Please hang up, or try again._

 

 

In that moment...his heart dropped. He didn't even hear the rest of what the recorded message recited. All he could think of was the worse. His hand began shaking as he tore the phone away from his ear and redialed the number. Maybe he made a mistake last time? Yeah, that was it. He had mis-dialed! And he would get it right this time! And Stiles would answer – giving him shit for not calling in months!

 

 

_We're sorry. Your call cannot be completed as dialed. Please hang up, or try -_

 

_We're sorry. Your call cannot be completed as dialed. Please hang up, or -_

 

_We're sorry. Your call cannot be completed as dialed. Please hang up -_

 

_We're sorry. Your call cannot be completed as dialed. Please hang -_

 

_We're sorry. Your call cannot be completed as dialed. Please -_

 

_We're sorry. Your call cannot be completed as dialed. -_

 

_We're sorry. Your call cannot be completed as -_

 

_We're sorry. Your call cannot be completed -_

 

_We're sorry. Your call cannot be -_

 

_We're sorry. Your call cannot -_

 

_We're sorry. Your call -_

 

_We're sorry. Your -_

 

_We're sorry. -_

 

_We're -_

 

_We're sorry. Your call cannot be completed as dialed. Please hang up, or try again._

 

 

Derek sat there, staring blankly at the screen. He could hear the message repeat again and again – burning its way deep into his skull. There...there was no way. There couldn't be...

 

No. No no no no no.

 

Quickly, he dialed Scott. They were best friends. Scott could tell him what was going on with Stiles. Could confirm whether or not Stiles was...

 

“Derek?” came Scott's voice in confusion. “Why are you -”

 

He wasted no time cutting straight to the point. He didn't have time beating around the bush. And this wasn't the situation to beat around a bush to begin with.

 

“Where's Stiles?”

 

A pause. An exasperated sigh.

 

“Scott! Where. Is. Stiles?!”

 

“Have you been talking to Lydia lately? Because she keeps going off about some Stiles, too.”

 

“Some...?”

 

What was going on? Weren't they best friends? _**Brothers**_?!

 

“What the hell are you talking about? Is this a joke? Did Stiles put you up to this?!”

 

“Who is Stiles?!”

 

The world slowed at that moment in time. What...what was going on? Why was Scott acting like this? What did he mean _who is Stiles_?

 

He felt sick, hanging up and staggering to his feet. He wandered aimlessly, his mind and spirit gone. Was it a lie? Was that voice and that memory and that face just...just his own imagination? No...no, that couldn't be. There was...there was no possible way that Stiles was a figment of his imagination.

 

His _anchor_ was a real, breathing, sarcastic, human being!

 

Suddenly, he felt his phone vibrate in his hand. He blinked, coming out of his blank wandering. There, on the screen, flashed Lydia's name. He instantly remembered Scott's comment about the Banshee. That she was going on about _some Stiles_.

 

Wasting no time, he hurriedly answered. “Lydia? What's going on?”

 

“You remember Stiles?” she replied back, her voice shaking.

 

“What are you talking about? Of course I remember Stiles! It's a little fuzzy, but I remember him.”

 

She let out a teary sigh of relief. “Oh, thank god. I'm not crazy.”

 

“What -”

 

“Derek, listen. You need to come back, and you need to come back quick. The Wild Hunt is here...and they've taken Stiles. I'm sure of it.”

 

**~+~**

 


	2. Chapter 2

It would be a lie to say that this wasn't the fastest Derek had left anywhere.

 

Sure, there were times he had to flee with Laura with only the clothes on their backs in the middle of the night. However, _those_ times were sometimes taken a little more _slowly_ – especially when Derek was bleary eyed and stumbling to at least put on sweats. Half of the time, they would grab what they could and load it into the Camaro before racing off to their next location. Still was decently slow. 

 

This time, Derek threw as much as he could into a dufel, not even looking at what he grabbed, before shifting fully and bolting. He carried the bag in his mouth as far as he could go, not caring if anyone saw him and flipped. He was too fast for them all to actually catch him. He would know. Animal Control had been called on him countless of times in the past, and nobody was able to get a dart within an inch of him. So he had no worries as he ran and ran and ran.

 

About an hour into his run, he began to slow. He was vaguely surprised that he managed to last that long. He started dragging, barely able to keep up a jog. At this point, he figured that maybe he should start hitchhiking. Finding a private place, he shifted back to his bipedal form, and haphazardly got dressed. Once he was certain that he at least had his fly done up, he hiked towards the road, thumb out and ready to go.

 

It took about five minutes before someone pulled over to offer him a ride.

 

The driver, a woman hitting about her fifties, wasn't all that chatty. Just asked where she could take him, where was he going after that, and if he needed any food or money. After she got her answers, she just turned up her rockabilly music and drove. It was nice, really. The last time Derek had hitchhiked...it wasn't a pleasant experience. In fact, he never spoke of it again. To anyone. So this was a nice pace for him. And he felt safe with this stranger, something new. Still...he kept himself on his toes, bones itching with anxiety and need to help out the pack.

 

The drive, thankfully, didn't last far too long. In a matter of forty-five minutes, he was dropped off right in front of Yellowstone. He thanked the woman before she drove off. Even gave her a few fifties for her trouble, despite her meek protest.

 

Once he was in the clear, he again found a private spot to shift and continued his trek.

 

It felt like days before he stumbled towards a cheap hotel. He found a place to shift and dress, and walked in only to ask where he could find food and water close by. The person at the front desk offered him a room, but he declined. He had no time for sleep. Food and water was a must. Sleep? Sleep could wait.

 

(He did _not_ almost pass out from exhaustion in the fast food joint. And nobody could prove otherwise.)

 

Having eaten enough to feed six werewolves, and likely nearly drinking the eatery out of their water, Derek was off again. It was a repetitive process that was wearing down on him. He would only take power naps in the vehicles that offered to take him the few miles he always requested. Many people offered to take him to a hotel or offered a place to have a proper day's rest. He always declined. He didn't have the time. Just...running out of time...

 

When he did catch a little sleep, his dreams were haunted by Stiles. Haunted by his voice. Haunted by his laugh. Haunted by his face. Haunted by...

 

It was more or less two in the afternoon Friday before Derek found himself stumbling into Beacon Hills. He took shelter in the woods, returning to human form and dressing sluggishly. Then, he pressed forward in what likely looked like a drunken stupor towards the smell of pack.

 

He didn't make it far. Barely reached the location of his former home before collapsing to the ground and blacking out. Once more haunted by the fuzzy recollections of Stiles.

 

**~+~**

 

“Christ, Derek. Did you take a break at all?”

 

The voice caused him to stir slightly. His eyes were still closed and his mind was still half asleep. His nose and ears were at least working full time. And, judging by the smells and the beat of the heart, he had been found by Lydia.

 

“We're in my car. I'm driving you to Scott's so you can sleep properly.” she provided, likely having guessed what Derek was going to say next.

 

“Mmmm.”

 

“Good to see you're still vocal.”

 

“I ran and hitchhiked all the way from Jackson Hole.” he submitted, as if that would explain everything.

 

Fortunately, it did.

 

“You ran and hitchhiked all the way from _Wyoming_?”

 

“Mmmm.”

 

“Are you insane?! Do you know how long that takes just driving alone?! What were you thinking!? Forget Scott's! I should take you to the hospital!”

 

“No. Scott's. Scott's works. Don't have time for the hospital.”

 

There was a hesitant pause. He could practically hear her mulling it over. Hear the torn thoughts through her heart. The Banshee sighed, tapping her steering wheel with her manicured nails.

 

“Okay...” she said quietly. “Okay...no hospital...”

 

Derek grunted his thanks, finally able to manage raising his hands to his face. “How did you find me?”

 

“Lucky guess, I suppose.”

 

“Instinct?”

 

“Probably that, too. You never know with me.”

 

“What's been going on?”

 

“Well...you sure don't beat around the bush.”

 

“You called me after I called Scott about Stiles. You mentioned the Wild Hunt. I need to know what is going on.”

 

“In short? They're slowly erasing everyone out of Beacon Hills. Scott, Malia, Kira, Liam, Mason, Hayden, Corey, my mom, and the sheriff don't believe me whenever I talk about Stiles. His mother is adamant that she didn't have a son, too...”

 

With those words alone, Derek was no longer fatigued. He shot upright in a panic and threatened to pop his claws out on Lydia's seats. She didn't react much. Just glanced at him through her rearview in confusion.

 

“Derek?”

 

“What did you say?”

 

“I-I said that the Hunt is slowly erasing people from Beacon Hills?”

 

“No no! _After_ that!”

 

“That everyone doesn't believe me?”

 

“After _that_!”

 

Again, she hesitated, her brow creasing into worry. “Derek...what's going on?”

 

Derek swallowed, hunched over and breathing too roughly for someone who was supposed to be in control. He trembled as fought to regain it, reciting the words that had helped him before under his breath. It took him longer than he wanted to get back into control. It was frustrating – a menace on his being. By the time he was back, Lydia had parked across from Scott's house.

 

She also was staring at him with genuine concern.

 

“Derek? What's going on?”

 

He swallowed again, flexing his hands to help him keep calm. “You...said that his mother said she never had a son...”

 

“Yeah? So?”

 

He met her eyes, fear swimming around in his. “Stiles' mother is dead.”

 

**~+~**

 


	3. Chapter 3

Other than the one picture he managed to stumble upon, he had no idea what Claudia Stilinski looked like.

 

That is, until he was found sitting on an unfamiliar couch in the Stilinski resident with Lydia...staring right at Stiles' mother. It was like staring at a ghost of someone whom he knew...but...didn't. It made no sense to him why she was even here before him, sitting besides the sheriff. He knew everything that was needed to be known about The Hunt...and bringing back the dead was _not_ one of those things. Because if that were the case...Allison would be here.

 

Allison was not back.

 

But Claudia _was_.

 

Something was very, _very_ wrong.

 

“It's so nice to see you again, Derek.” Claudia said sweetly, smiling wide. “You look a little pale, though. Are you okay?”

 

Derek swallowed, fighting back every urge to scream that she was dead, that she couldn't be here, that she was smiling like her son and how dare she. He licked his lips as he nodded, still swallowing down his itching screams.

 

“Derek here,” Lydia started evenly, her heart fluttering with the same frustration the wolf's was. “Remembers Stiles, too.”

 

There was a slightly exasperated sigh from the sheriff. The expression of pity followed. “Lydia...”

 

“No! I _know_ Stiles exists! It's not just a false memory formation! _Derek_ remembers him! Remembers him a lot _more_ than me! Stiles is _real_!”

 

“Lydia...look...”

 

Whatever was said next faded into the void. Derek closed his eyes, feeling the exhaustion sweep over him again. Maybe he should've listened to Lydia and crashed at Scott's before confronting the supposed Claudia. Who looked so much like Stiles. He should've prepared himself better. Maybe -

 

“ _Look, if you just-if you see my dad, tell him...tell him I'll be there, I'll just be a little late, okay?”_

 

“He played on the lacrosse team...to make Scott happy...to make you pay attention to him...”

 

The words, faintly distant and somewhat trance-like, filled the room with heaviness. All eyes focused on the werewolf, confused and worried. He sat straight up, blinking blearily. It had to be the lack of proper rest that was doing this to him, but he didn't care. Stiles was trying to come back. Was trying to force his way through and make people remember him.

 

Derek wasn't going to let him down.

 

“You sure you're okay, honey? You look sick...” Claudia said with a crease of worry.

 

He curled his lip into a tightly forced grin. “I'm going to use the bathroom.”

 

And with that, he got up and left to go up the stairs. No directions needed. He knew this house like the back of his hand. And, of course, the bathroom thing was just an excuse. His real mission was to see what overtook Stiles' room. What was there in place of that memory.

 

The answer smacked him right in the gut. Because instead of a door leading to Stiles room...there was nothing. Just...just a wall. With dreadfully done wallpaper. Was peeling slowly and -

 

Wait.

 

Oh.

 

 _Oh_.

 

The wallpaper was a ruse. It hid the room. Kept it out of sight – out of mind. Immediately, Derek realized what Claudia was. What her purpose was. And it was terrifying.

 

“Found something?”

 

He was so absorbed in the horrifying truth of practically _everything_ , that he hadn't heard Lydia come up. She likely excused herself to check on him, feigning some form of worry. Though, she was obviously somewhat worried, but her worry was placed in his exhaustion. Not anything concerning Stiles.

 

Derek pointed at the wallpaper, hand shaking from lack of sleep. “His room is behind this.”

 

That made her perk, eyes wide and breath barely there. “Are you sure?”

 

“I know this place like it was my own house. I'm sure of it.”

 

“So, what do you want to do?”

 

“We wait for them to both be out. Then, we tear this down.”

 

“Okay. What do we do in the meantime?”

 

“We search for something. Something he left behind.”

 

“But the Wild Hunt erases everything about a person.”

 

“No...no they don't.” He peeled carefully at the wallpaper, creating a small tear so it wouldn't be too noticeable. “They create an _illusion_ of that. There is always something left behind. A memento. An imprint. Some are stronger than others. Especially when they have a spark to them.”

 

“And you think Stiles has that?”

 

He ran a hand down the wallpaper, a rush of familiarity enveloping him from beyond it. “I know he does...”

 

They remained there for what felt like hours – both staring at the dreadful wallpaper with the same kind of knowing. The same kind of intense fire. They both wanted to find Stiles, even if no one else believed them.

 

Finally, they went back downstairs, both wearing tight lipped smiles.

 

“Thank you for your time.” Lydia said as sweetly as she could managed, which ended up sounding like a constipated curt. “But we really should go. Derek here decided to make a several day trip into an hours trip. So, needless to say, he needs to sleep.”

 

The Stilinskis nodded, both stunned to hear of Derek's states crossing trip. Derek continued to smile tightly, bowing his head a little.

 

“Good to see you again.”

 

“Likewise.” the sheriff replied, his face in that usual worried mask he wore so much for Stiles and crew.

 

“Rest up, sweetie.” Claudia added, wearing the same, almost pained concern Stiles wore.

 

It took everything in Derek to not snap at her. To tell her to stop making faces Stiles made. That she wasn't real. That she was a farce. But he had to play his cards right. So, he just nodded his thanks and turned heel as fast as his feet could take him. Lydia was close behind, saying goodbye one last time. Once back to her car, the facade was over. They slapped on glares and didn't speak until they headed back towards Scott's.

 

“We getting everyone together?”

 

“We have to. There's a lot to talk about. Especially about Stiles' so called mother.”

 

“About that...you said she was dead...”

 

“She is. She has been dead for years. Died of frontotemporal dementia.”

 

Lydia made a face. A face that said she knew exactly what he was talking about. “Yeah...there is _no way_ she is not only _alive_ , but _perfectly healthy_ having that. There's no cure for it.”

 

“I know.”

 

She sighed, fingers gripping white knuckled at the wheel. “What is she, then?”

 

“Ever heard of Tulpa?”

 

“Yeah. It's something that's created by spiritual or mental discipline. According to Indian Buddhists, it is an illusion, a mind created apparition. A lot of people believe things like Bigfoot and the Loch Ness Monster are a form of a Tulpa.” She paused, gears turning. “Is that was she is? A Tulpa?”

 

“A strong one. What most people don't know about The Hunt is that if they feel threatened by someone they have erased, they will put something, or in this case a person, in the lives of the people in the individual's life to make it harder for them to remembered. Sometimes...they are never remembered. After some time, they will turn that person into a powerful member of their group, or erase them from beyond existence, and move on.

 

Unless they are stuck. If they are stuck somewhere...then they will take and take till no one is here. They don't get stuck often. They only get stuck if a Banshee is in the location. Because a Banshee is a form of Morrígan, which sometimes is known to lead The Hunt or be enemies of The Hunt. If The Hunt views a Banshee as an enemy...they will take everyone and leave the Banshee behind, empty and alone. If they view the Banshee as an ally, they won't take anyone else – just the Banshee. Make them the leader.”

 

“And...has that ever happened? The Hunt thinking that a Banshee is the enemy?”

 

He could hear the fear and guilt in her voice. It made him feel like an ass for explaining everything. But he had to. She had to know. _Everyone_ had to know.

 

“How do you think ghost towns are made? Not all of them were just because the boom left.”

 

“Oh my god...”

 

“It is incredibly rare that they are both stuck _and_ they create a Tulpa for a specific person.”

 

“What happens if they do that?”

 

Derek stared ahead, unable to answer. He never got to learn that far ahead. His family's tome of all the knowledge gathered through the centuries had numerous pages ruined in the fire. And, unfortunately, that answer to Lydia's question was one of them...

 

**~+~**

 


	4. Chapter 4

The meeting wasn't allowed to happen until Derek had some proper sleep. Which, after much protesting from Scott and Melissa giving him this look, Derek was forced to take more than a power nap on Scott's bed.

 

It didn't take long for him to pass out – his ears full of the murmurs coming from downstairs.

 

As he slept, he felt hands on him. Not hands that made his skin crawl. Not hands that made him want to recoil and snarl. But hands that were careful, that were gauging what was green and what was red. Hands that felt familiar. Hands that grounded him.

 

“ _Find me...”_

 

Derek gasped, bolting upright in a panic. His body was soaked with sweat that chilled him to the bone. Bypassed all his werewolf heat. He shivered, curling his knees to his chest and arms over his head. His chest ached with the racing and emptiness of his heart. His head thumped with pin pricks of discomfort that clogged his senses. Claws began gliding across his scalp, just adding to...to the confusion, frustration, and anxiety of the situation.

 

Normally, victims of The Hunt couldn't reach out. Couldn't haunt people in their lives. Even if they were the anchors. Unless...

 

Scott's door opened, revealing Kira. She looked worse for wear, likely tired and concerned and probably had to play peacekeeper in a group of bullheaded individuals. Tension seemed to bleed out from her shoulders when she saw him. Swiftly, she made her way to the bed and wasted no time in wrapping him in a nice, warm hug.

 

Now, Derek wasn't a big hugger. Not since Laura's death. But this was Kira. He liked her. She was kind, loyal, and innocent in a way. It was difficult to shrink away from any comfort she offered. He leaned in, head drooped onto her shoulder. It was nice to have someone around who didn't know him as well as everyone else. Meant that it wasn't as awkward as it could've been.

 

“Lydia filled us in on everything. I'm so so sorry that I didn't believe. I should've known that Lydia would know something. She _always_ knows something.”

 

Derek sighed, shrugging the best he could. He was still lethargic – not fully up to his best. He didn't have time to get back on his feet like that. No time at all.

 

Kira pulled back, her face full of the excitement she usually had when she was about to ramble.

 

“We couldn't wait for you to wake up, because you've been out for two days, so we started doing what Lydia and you  had planned. We gathered research about Mrs. Stilinski, and Scott's mom found her records, and you were totally right! She had frontotemporal demetia! So, there is no way she is really alive! Been trying to stake out the house, waiting for her to leave, but she hasn't, which Mason thinks that maybe she knows that we are watching, or she can't leave, which we ruled that out because we have all seen her out and about before you came back. We've also been trying to find this memento you talked about, and I think we found it! It's in the school parking lot, without keys, so we've been fighting to keep it there so that the towing company doesn't take it away and we lose all hope in getting whatever happens when we discover the memento and interact with it properly. Oh! It's a Jeep! Don't think I mentioned that. And we did some digging about the Jeep -”

 

Derek held up his pointer finger, squinting. It ceased Kira's rapid fire words instantly. Also caused her to flush brightly.

 

“Oh crap. I was rambling, wasn't I?”

 

“It's...it's fine. It's just a lot to take in after waking up.”

 

“Right. Sorry.”

 

He leaned back against the headrest, eyes having a hard time staying open all of the sudden. He ignored it. Pushed forward. “You said I was out for two days?”

 

“Yeah. We were starting to get worried. But you were breathing, and Scott's mom checked on you often, so we knew you weren't dead. Just exhausted. You even had an IV to get fluids a few times. And Argent is here. He was definitely thankful for your extra insight on The Hunt, and he is certain that they are stuck.”

 

“Was afraid of that...”

 

"He said he would have to look at his family's bestiary for more info. He hasn't has the time yet, though."

 

"Mmmm."

 

Sluggishly, Derek started to slide off the bed. Kira squeaked, appearing terrified, but in a comical manner. He raised his brows, wondering what that was all about.

 

“You should be resting...”

 

“There's no time. We need to come up with a plan. Since the only successes we've had has been the discovery of the Jeep and that I was right about Stiles' mother.”

 

Kira nodded enthusiastically, eyes wide. “Okay. I can text Scott and the others to meet us in the school parking lot. I know he went with Malia out to investigate something in the woods. Liam, Hayden, Mason, and Corey are trying to figure out how mementos really work. Somebody just vanished and Corey witnessed it, so they are looking around that area.”

 

“Lydia?”

 

“Working on Mrs. Stilinski. Trying to distract her.”

 

“Tell her to put that on hold. We need to get to that Jeep.”

 

“On it!”

 

He dragged himself to the door, feeling the weight of his condensed trip and the struggle for control wash over him. He could also feel Kira closely behind, likely wanting to be there in case he collapsed. He was thankful for her concern. It was refreshing to have someone be concerned like this for him. Genuinely concerned. Felt like an eternity ago since he felt that...

 

As they made there way down the stairs, Derek stopped dead in his tracks. Something constricted him in his chest. Like he had been punched there multiple times in a row. A faint connection slithered under his skin. A feeling of _pack_. Pack pack pack pack.

 

“Derek? You okay?”

 

Pack pack pack pack pack. Familial pack. But who? Cora was in South America. The rest of his family was -

 

He nearly fell down the stairs, barely able to catch himself on the railing and Kira's offered hand. A rush of memories cascaded onto him. Good memories, bad memories, conflicted memories. Memories of family. Memories of pack.

 

 _Peter_.

 

Where was _**Peter**_?

 

**~+~**

 

“Where is he? Where's Peter?”

 

Scott stepped in front of Derek, wearing the same kind of unease across his face. The action was likely to prevent Derek from going forward. And it worked this time. Derek stood before the young alpha, waiting for an answer. Fortunately, Scott didn't feel the need to make him wait.

 

“He's in the emergency room. Mom says she is gonna keep a close eye on him. Mr. Argent is going to help her.”

 

“What happened?”

 

“He just...came out of nowhere. Was like...he appeared from nothing. From somewhere else. Somewhere that burned him.”

 

“And when we approached him, grabbed him, the memories came back.” Malia added, clearly uncomfortable with seeing her birth father again. “How could we just...forget him? I mean, he's my dad. He bit Scott. Also, he's the devil in a V-neck.”

 

Derek nodded, brows knitted. “Stiles called him that...”

 

Scott, Kira, and Malia all stared at him with a variety of emotions. Malia was the only one to act upon hers.

 

“How do you remember so much about him when the rest of us don't? Even Lydia remembers less than you.”

 

Derek shrugged, adverting his eyes. To be honest, he didn't know why he remembered more about Stiles than anyone else. He figured that maybe it was because Stiles was his anchor. But...that would mean that Malia would remember Stiles more, too. They had been dating, after all. And why wouldn't Scott remember more about his own best friend? If anything, Malia or Scott should be the ones to remember Stiles. Suffer with the fragmented pieces.

 

Not a complete outsider...

 

“Peter had something in his hand.” Scott said quickly, as if it was a note he had neglected to mention.

 

And it was.

 

Wordlessly, Derek held out his hand, wanting whatever his uncle had once held. It was with hesitance, but Scott eventually dropped into Derek's palm what Peter had. And it weighed a ton in his hold. As if he was now in charge of a burden of life and death.

 

It was keys.

 

Well loved keys.

 

Keys...keys...

 

“We need to go to the school.”

 

“What about Peter?” asked Kira, stunned.

 

Derek let out a huff, shoving the keys into his pocket. (Whether or not he kept his hand clutched around those keys was neither here nor there.) “He can wait. This is important.”

 

Malia straightened, knowing in her fierce stare. “Those are the keys to the Jeep.”

 

It wasn't a question. It was a statement.

 

“I'll tell Lydia to head to the school instead of here.” Scott said, already getting his cell out. “And I'll see what the others are doing.”

 

“I'll drive.” offered Kira, suddenly serious.

 

There was no argument. They all filed out of the hospital lobby with a fiery resolve, following closely behind Derek. Who had claws curled around the keys, fist shaking from its weight. Because this was it. This was going to lead them to the memento. This was going to lead them to remembering just a little more.

 

One step closer to Stiles...

 

**~+~**

 


	5. Chapter 5

Lydia didn't even bother to turn off her car. She parked right next to Kira's car, unbuckled, and rushed out. Her eyes were wild with both excitement and a hint of fear. Like she was scared that this would end up being a dead end. Especially when she saw the Jeep. Especially when she saw the keys in Derek's palm.

 

“This is it? This is to the Jeep?” she asked, her voice high and breathy.

 

“Derek thinks so.” Malia shrugged, obviously skeptical yet itching to believe.

 

“I know it is...” Derek bit, flinching at his own words.

 

“We were waiting for you.” informed Scott. “According to Liam, Hayden, Mason, and Corey...if we interact with the memento, and not just touching it, memories come back. Not all of them, but just enough.”

 

That was good enough for Derek. He inserted the key into the lock, holding his breath as he turned it. There was a click. Faint...but still there. He pulled open the door, feeling his heart beat against his ribcage. Okay...okay...it worked so far. Now to see if it went into the ignition. It should, but...but...

 

Derek climbed in, leaning over to unlock the other door. Everyone filed in, most of them sitting in the back. Lydia sat beside Derek, fidgeting and worrying at her lip. She smelled like unshed tears. Scott reached over, taking her hand and squeezing it as tight as he could without breaking it.

 

“Okay. We're in the Jeep. Now what?” inquired Malia.

 

“We turn it on.” Kira replied quickly. “R-right?”

 

That sounded about right. There wasn't too much on the mementos themselves in his family's tome. Just that there was always one left behind. Some were stronger than others. All vague things.

 

Hand quivering, Derek placed the key in the ignition and held his breath. He turned it. The Jeep roared to life. All lights flipped on. The police scanner screeched with static. It was all surreal. No one made a single sound. Just...stared. Held their breaths.

 

But nothing came back.

 

At least...that's what it felt like.

 

It was all anticlimactic. Disappointing. Derek felt his heart sink. Was this...was this not it? Was this memento not strong enough? Or was it something else?

 

Not wanting to give up, Derek reached over and grabbed the radio attached to the police scanner. His hand was trembling again, rattling him all the way up to his throat. He was about to make a call over it. Was about to do at least _something_. But then...

 

“Hello? Can-can anyone hear me? Is anyone there?”

 

His body hummed with triumph. Nearly soared right out of the seat. The buzz of recognition from everyone else in the Jeep hit his senses repeatedly. Which made things worse. In a good way but...still worse.

 

“Hello? Is anyone there?”

 

The break in the all too familiar, haunting voice did it. Derek hunched over, overcome by so many different emotions. He didn't trust his voice at this moment...but Stiles...he was calling...

 

“Yes. We're here.” he finally choked, a hand on his back attempting to calm him. “We're all here.”

 

There was a pause before a startled and relieved, “D-Derek?”

 

“I'm here. We're here. I'm here...”

 

“Who's there with you?”

 

Scott leaned over, taking Derek's hand and pressed the button with him. “I'm here. Lydia's here. Malia's here. Kira's here.”

 

“Sc-Scott?”

 

The Alpha smiled, leaning onto Derek's shoulder with shudders and salt smells. “Y-yeah. Lydia and Derek led us here.”

 

Stiles let out an audible sigh of gratitude before he said, “Listen, I don't have much time -”

 

“Stiles...” Lydia interrupted, now full on crying. “Where are you?”

 

“I'm in a train station, but I know it isn't the old one in Beacon Hills. It's different.”

 

“Which train station?” Kira questioned, piled on top of Scott.

 

“It's in a different realm. It's not...not real. At least...I think it isn't. I don't know. But listen to me, okay? I'm running out of time. They're going to figure out what I'm doing. But I need you to do me a favor. Go to Canaan. You _have_ to go to Canaan.”

 

“What's -” Scott started.

 

“We'll go to Canaan.” Derek promised, his body shaking more than it already was. “We'll go to Canaan.”

 

“I promise, things will hopefully make sense when you get there. If I'm right, you'll get some answers.”

 

“You'll be right. You're _always_ right, Stiles.”

 

“I appreciate the vote of confidence, big guy. I really do. But I don't know if I am, this time.”

 

“You'll be right. You'll be right...”

 

“Listen, I gotta go. I gotta go! Go to Canaan! Go to -”

 

Static. Dread. Worry.

 

Derek slumped back in the driver's seat, the radio slipping from his hand. Lydia snatched it up, desperation consuming her.

 

“Stiles? What answers will we get in Canaan? Stiles? Stiles?!”

 

“He's gone...” muttered Malia with intense sadness. “He's gone...”

 

“But he's real. He's actually _real_.” Kira sniffed. “Oh god...I'm so so so sorry for not believing you in the beginning, Lydia...”

 

Lydia didn't answer. Just held the radio in her hands like it was an old friend that had perished.

 

There was a gentle squeeze on Derek's shoulder, causing him to glance up from his stupor. Scott was right there, brows furrowed and a faint accusatory glare sitting in his eyes.

 

“What's in Canaan?”

 

Derek wrinkled his own brows together, glowering back. “What makes you think I would know?”

 

“Because you knew about everything else!”

 

“That doesn't mean I know what we're going to find in Canaan! In fact, I'm pretty sure we won't find anything there but empty streets!”

 

“And why do you say that?”

 

“Because, last I heard, it's a ghost town. A ghost town nobody dares touch.”

 

“Why?”

 

“It's protected by a local pack. They make up excuses as to why nobody should go in there.”

 

“But why?!”

 

He flared his nostrils in annoyance, eyes burning blue. “Because...that's a place where The Hunt was stuck until there was no one left.”

 

**~+~**

 


	6. Chapter 6

“You...want to go into Canaan...because you were told to on a radio?”

 

The alpha of the pack guarding the entrance to Canaan had her brow raised, skeptical of their intentions. Maybe even their sanity.

 

“By our friend who was taken by The Hunt.” Malia added, tension in her tone.

 

The alpha gave them each a once over with disbelief, and shook her head. “How in the world did your friend contact you? And how in the world do you remember him?”

 

“We don't.” Kira admitted. “Well...not entirely. It's all in bits and pieces.”

 

“But we _do_ remember him.” added Lydia with urgency. “It'll be for...maybe an hour or two. We just...we really need to find out what he wants us to find there.”

 

“You do realize that this ludicrous, right? This whole mission of yours. What do you even hope to accomplish?”

 

This was starting to become annoying. Derek got it, he really did. Canaan was her responsibility. No one was allowed in there no matter what. But they needed to go in there. _Had_ to. Stiles told them to. Not only that, but Lydia had visions of the place and what had happened. They needed answers. And maybe, just maybe, there was something there that could help them defeat The Hunt.

 

They had to go in. No matter what.

 

Derek stepped forward, arms folded tightly to his chest to hide the claws that kept popping in and out, and put on the most sympathetic face he could. He was watched closely, mostly by the alpha. He knew she recognized him, knew who he was. Definitely could play into his favor.

 

“Please...we just need to go in there for...an hour, at least.” he pleaded solemnly, holding himself as tall as he could. “Our friend is trapped by The Hunt and managed to get out this one thing to us. And our Banshee also saw something disturbing about this place. Something that may give us a way to stop The Hunt. I know you want to keep people out, and I get that. I really do. But this is something we have to do. Our friend is important to us. The people of our town are important to us. We don't want to be the next Canaan. Do you?”

 

The alpha's body movements, along with breathing patterns, showed annoyance with them. It was understandable. Out of everyone in the group, Derek ,and even Malia, understood her frustration. This was part of her territory. She had to protect it. But, like the little whispers in Derek's mind repeated like a record broken, they had to get in there. Had to had to had to had to.

 

“Fine.” the alpha sighed, glowering at each of them individually. “But you have just _one_ hour the minute you enter. Once that hour is hit, if you're not gone or not leaving, I will personally come hunt you down. I don't care if you're a true alpha. I don't care if you're a Hale. I will hunt you like prey.”

 

The threat was drowned out by relief. They were able to go in. They were able to fulfill what Stiles asked of them.

 

One step closer...

 

One step closer...

 

It was almost a blur after that. Between profusely thanking the alpha for allowing them to go into Canaan, to the drive to the ill fated town – all a blur. Meshed all into one scene passing by. Scenes swallowed up by the urgency, relief, and sprinkles of fear slamming into the senses.

 

Once they crossed into the Canaan borders, everything snapped back into focus. The countdown began. One hour. One hour.

 

As Lydia drove further down the street, heading towards the place she specifically saw in her vision, it was apparent that this place was frozen in time. Everything screamed eighties. Derek could easily think of these streets blaring _Hungry Like The Wolf_ or perhaps _Bohemian Rhapsody_. It put a light-hearted feel in him for just a second before he felt dread.

 

This was what the Wild Hunt could do.

 

This was the empty echo of lives snatched up too soon.

 

This was what Beacon Hills could become if they didn't figure out what to do...

 

The car came to a rough stop. However, no one complained. They remained solemn, eyes on Lydia. Her body was full of minute tremors, followed by barely noticeable rigid breathing. She didn't have to say anything. They all knew. This was the place.

 

There was a massive, worn out banner over the street, tied between the street lamps and decorated with colorful flags, that read in bold, proud letters **35** **th** **ANNUAL NEIGHBORHOOD BLOCK PARTY CANAAN DAY SATURDAY AT 4PM**. Tables full of abandoned food, rotted to basically extinction, lined the street before them. A carousel wasn't too far from those tables, paint chipping from the ornate horses.

 

A faint smell of dried blood and confused fright consumed the vacant streets.

 

“There's a woman here...” Lydia breathed, her fingers gripping the steering wheel to the point where her knuckles lost color. “She's a Banshee, too. I'm sure of it.”

 

“They thought she was the enemy?” Malia asked, already slipping out of the car.

 

“The Hunt attacked quickly, though.” noted Derek, recalling everything he had been told about the town. “That is a bit uncharacteristic. They aren't mindless. They are tactical, believe it or not. So not only were they stuck, but they didn't drag it out for pleasure. They made it go by quicker than usual.”

 

“How do you know so much about Canaan?” Scott inquired, brows raised.

 

“Packs around the country were told about it. Always are when The Hunt is concerned. Always forget the threat in the end...convinced that they won't come for us next. This was the first place in centuries that had been wiped out by them that we knew of. It was a big buzz. My mother told me the stories of it. How scared and on edge everyone was. The two weeks it took to take everyone was not normal. It had only happened one other time from what she was told. Sadly, I never found out if they figured out why. I had theories...just theories...”

 

“Well, theories aren't going to help us any.” Malia huffed, opening Lydia's door. “C'mon. We're on borrowed time.”

 

Solemnly, everyone else filed out. The solemn feel only grew upon starting to roam about. Derek brushed by the tables, catching a glimpse of a newspaper. April 8, 1987. Huh...that date...it...meant something...

 

Scott came up from behind, peering over his shoulder. He said something about the date, that it was familiar to him, but it sounded like a hollowed echo in Derek's ear. Malia and Kira mentioned it as well, having found a receipt with the same date. Their voices were also hollowed echos.

 

While the others searched around the festivities that were left behind, Derek wandered around in a haze. He couldn't hear anything. Not a single breath, heartbeat, rustle of trees – nothing. It was as if he had no ears.

 

Something was very, _very_ wrong.

 

“Is that a kid?” came Kira's gasps in a muffled ripple.

 

Derek's head snapped up, the daze broken.

 

Sure enough, standing by the carousel, was a little boy with vibrant blond hair and wore an almost a sailor-like outfit. He was staring at them with unnerving intensity – empty of life. He didn't smell alive...but he didn't smell dead either. Actually...he had no smell to him _at all_. He didn't have any breathing or beating noises to him, too. He was like a doll. A very lifelike, moving doll.

 

Who was soaked to the bone...

 

“Hey there!” called Lydia cheerfully, attempting to hide the discomfort in her tone. “What's your name?”

 

Derek didn't expect the boy to speak. Didn't expect anything but the stare that froze his blood. But that boy smiled creepily, like he was pulled right off the set of a horror movie.

 

“Caleb.” he answered in a strange, doubled voiced way. “What's yours?”

 

The levels of anxiety were through the roof. Was close to making Derek double over and vomit. Everyone started to crowd up beside him, clinging closely together. For comfort. For protection. Because there was something wrong with this boy. This town.

 

“I'm Lydia. These are my friends Scott, Kira, Malia, and Derek.”

 

Caleb's grin grew. There was no warmth or innocence there. Only a fabrication of it. “Hi.”

 

“Hi...” Kira said back. The only one to.

 

“Are you here to play with me? I've been very lonely.”

 

The red flags were waving right in front of Derek's face. Obnoxious alarms to go with them. The only reason he didn't turn tail and get the hell out of there was because of Stiles.

 

“Actually...we're looking for someone.” Scott told the child, his voice a little shaky. “Or, well, something. See, a friend of ours told us to come here. You wouldn't happen to know why?”

 

The light that entered Caleb's face was just...bone chilling. No child should _ever_ look like this.

 

“Oh! You're here to see my mom! Okay! I'll show you the way!”

 

In the words of Stiles...this was a shiny, gold ticket on the Nope Train to Fuckthatville.

 

Nonetheless...they followed.

 

What other choice did they have?

 

Upon reaching the house, they heard it. Well, the ones that could did. A heartbeat. A live person. It should be impossible but...Lydia had already seen it back in the mirror at the school. The woman left behind. The Banshee.

 

“Your house looks nice.” Kira said, obviously uncomfortable.

 

“Mom likes to keep it pretty.” Caleb stated plainly.

 

“She did a wonderful job.” Lydia complimented.

 

At the door, Caleb stood there, hand on the knob. His head turned, attention directed towards Derek. He felt ill, ready to pass out. Caleb eyed him up and down, a sickening grin spreading across his dried lips.

 

“You're pretty, too. Mom will like you.”

 

Oh. Great. Just what he needed to hear. As if this wasn't creepy enough.

 

Derek forced himself to smile back, palms being pricked by blunt nails. “I'm sure she will.”

 

Caleb giggled, which sounded more like a vibrating doll with a broken voice box than a real kid. He opened the door before anyone could say anything, still giggling as he ran inside. He seemingly disappeared into nothing as everyone shuffled in. Scott and Malia instantly went to look for him. Kira hesitated before she joined them.

 

That left Lydia and Derek standing in the entry way, sharing a look of unease.

 

“Something is wrong...” she whispered.

 

Derek nodded, jaw tightening.

 

“We find what we need and get out.”

 

“We don't know what we need...”

 

“I know. Just...there has to be something...right?”

 

Footsteps approached, causing Derek to get in front of the Banshee to shield her. Fortunately, it was just Kira. Only...

 

“I can't find Scott or Malia...”

 

Shit.

 

“What do you mean you can't find Scott or Malia?” hissed Lydia in a low panic.

 

Kira shook her head, color drained from her face. It was as if she had seen a ghost. She was shaking, reeking of fear, confusion, and rising tears. Derek reached out, bringing her closer protectively. He did the same for Lydia, despite her protesting glare. If Scott and Malia could disappear within mere seconds, there was a strong possibility any of them could if they lost sight of each other.

 

He wasn't going to lose anymore of his friends. Not here.

 

“Oh! Visitors!”

 

The three of them startled – Derek being the most and curling his lip up in a snarl. Before them, in the archway between the living room and the entry, was an aging woman with wild hair and a very spinster look to her. Or at least what people always said spinsters looked like. She was smiling with genuine excitement. As if she had never had people visit her before. She made sure to give them each an equal amount of attention with her eyes, just...brimming with giddiness.

 

“You are all so pretty. What on earth are you doing here, visiting little ol' me?”

 

She eyed Derek a bit more, the attraction and also uncertainty of his presence obvious. He started to shrink away, uncomfortable with the small attention. Thankfully, Kira wrapped an arm around his front as a border of safety as Lydia stepped in front of him so the attention would shift. And it did. The woman shifted her gaze onto Lydia, still smiling.

 

“You're so beautiful...” she said fondly. “I love your hair.”

 

“Thank you.” replied the Banshee almost curtly. “May I ask who are you?”

 

“Oh! How rude of me! I'm Lenore! Would you like some lemonade?”

 

“No thank you, Lenore.” Lydia approached her, conviction sitting in her posture. “What do you remember about April 8, 1987?”

 

Lenore's face immediately fell. She backed up slowly, horror sitting on her face. “Why are you asking that?”

 

“Lenore...what happened that day? Is there anything you can remember? Anything leading up to it?”

 

“No. No no no. Nothing. People were leaving. They had been leaving for a while.”

 

“But leaving within two weeks? Isn't that a short time for people to leave? They disappeared, Lenore. Do you know why?”

 

“No. No. They were leaving. Just leaving.”

 

“They disappeared, Lenore.”

 

“No! They just left!”

 

“Lenore...our town is disappearing. Just like Canaan. Do you know why?”

 

“They left. They left they left they left THEY LEFT!”

 

The house shook violently, nearly bringing it down on them. Lydia was flown back, crashing into Derek and Kira. The three of them fell into the next room, which seemed to be a sitting room that had met with disarray. They groaned, struggling to figure out what hit them.

 

Banshee screams that powerful tend to do that.

 

Derek was the first to get up, followed by the girls simultaneously. As they all sat up, Lenore walked into the room with tears in her eyes and hands over her mouth.

 

“Oh my god! I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to – I just – I'm sorry!”

 

She dropped to her knees, sobbing. Close to hysterics.

 

And this was where Kira shined.

 

She crawled over to Lenore as tentatively as she could so not to spook the older woman. Then, she started rubbing her back in a comforting manner with a faint smile. Lenore started to calm, gaping at Kira with gratitude. It took some precious time...but a calm Banshee was better than one that could scream again with more ferocity.

 

“Thank you...” sniffed Lenore, wiping at her eyes.

 

“Yeah. No problem.” Kira smiled warmly.

 

Lenore sniffed again, wiping at her eyes. She glanced up, her gaze mostly falling upon Derek, and sighed. “They took everyone. They gave me back my son. That's all I know, really.”

 

Their hearts sunk. So...she didn't know anything. Why were they here, then? Why did Stiles send them there?

 

Wait a second...

 

“What do you mean they brought your son back?” asked Derek, not sure if he heard that right.

 

Lenore blinked, stunned by the question. “They...gave me my son back. He drowned so long ago...and they brought him back.”

 

That's not right. The Hunt didn't bring people back to the dead. They couldn't. But maybe they gave her a Tulpa. So she wouldn't question anything. But it was a poor one. A crude remake. Which...that was out of character for them. That would mean Lenore created the crude impression of her son to hide behind. But why would she say that they gave him to her?

 

All eyes were on him, searching for answers. He was the one that knew the most. Had been since he came back. But...right now...he was at a loss. Nothing made sense. It felt like they had wasted time needed to attempt to protect Beacon Hills. Time wasted from figuring out how to get Stiles back to them.

 

Stiles told them to come here...

 

Stiles was never wrong...

 

 _Never_...

 

Something caught his eye. Just above Lenore, in a crumbling china case, was something dark. Blacks and blues and purples. He brushed past Lenore and Kira, ignoring Lydia calling for him. Barely paying any mind to the broken glass scratching against his skin, he reached in, and pulled out a majestic, long, thick, vibrant feather. He stared intensely at it in awe, forgetting to breathe. This feather...this feather...

 

“Where did you get this?” His voice came out in a low whisper, mind racing and heart thundering in his ears.

 

“The feather?” Lenore pointed to the left, curious at why he cared. “In the blue house down the street. The one with the cars on jacks and tools all over them. Why?”

 

He started to remember something. Something he had heard before. Panic started to set in. Set in hard.

 

“Get Scott and Malia. Find out where they are.” was all he said before racing out of the door to that house.

 

His breathing echoed in his ears. His feet hitting the pavement filled the stale air, giving it life again. It took only seconds to find this house. Took seconds to make it to the door and demolish it with one simple kick. And then...he heard the very conversation he remembered...

 

 

“ _Are there really three tricksters or what not in the supernatural world?”_

 

_Derek furrowed his brow, glancing up from his book to give Stiles his infamous glare. To which Stiles didn't appreciate, if the flailing and nearly dropping his laptop said anything._

 

“ _What?! It's an honest question! You have the fox, the coyote, and the raven in a lot of mythology crap. I was just wondering if any of these existed in the supernatural community, too.”_

 

_The wolf sighed, setting his book aside. Apparently it was going to be one of those days: Stiles chalk full of questions that wouldn't end till Derek kicked him out. It was annoying, really. But also nice, refreshing. At least someone was interested in his world._

 

“ _Yes. You have the kitsune, the werecoyote, and the raven.”_

 

“ _Fox, coyote, raven. Okay. So...what's up with them? Like...what are they like? What can they do? All that stuff. I will lose sleep if I don't know, man!”_

 

_Another sigh. “Kitsunes can heal like werewolves, but they don't shift. They have this aura around them that mostly surround the young ones. They have fast reflexes, are amazing with weaponry and hand-to-hand combat, and are sly as hell. They also can live for a long, long time. The one I met was about five thousand years old and was just now looking about seventy.”_

 

“ _Five_ _ **thousand**_ _?!”_

 

“ _Yes, Stiles. Five thousand.”_

 

“ _Goddamn. I do not envy them. That is a long time to be alive.”_

 

“ _Most don't last that long by choice. This one was a masochist.”_

 

“ _Had to be to live **that** long.” Stiles closed his laptop, seemingly engrossed with this new information. “The werecoyote?”_

 

“ _Same as a werewolf. Just is a coyote instead.”_

 

“ _Well that's kinda lame.”_

 

“ _We're not all fascinating, Stiles.”_

 

“ _What about the raven?”_

 

_Derek sucked on his teeth, trying to figure out how to explain those. They were hard to put a finger on. Complex bastards._

 

“ _Well...most of them are women.”_

 

“ _Really? Why?”_

 

“ _Because they are connected to the Morrigan.”_

 

“ _Ohhhh. Makes sense. Considering that she is a Celtic goddess that turns into a raven or a hooded crow. Okay. So most are women.”_

 

“ _Yes. But there are the rare ones that are men. Those ones are...special. Not like the females aren't, but...”_

 

“ _Special how?”_

 

“ _They're...hard to detect. Like the females, they could easily be among you, easily blending in with barely showing signs of what they are. They are on par with the kitsune in the tricking department. They have no distinct smell, no aura, nothing. They are the perfect mimics. Males are the most vengeful. Or at least can be. You'll never hear about this, but the male ravens were the guards of the Morrigan and any Banshee on their way to become a Morrigan. Vicious. Loyal. And they are what the Wild Hunt fears the most. They have a love-hate relationship with Banshees...but ravens? Especially the male ones? They'll waste no time in torturing them. Making everyone forget them before dropping them back into the world...dead. Unable to decay. Unable to be remembered. Just a body with no name...with only feathers to keep them company...”_

 

 

Derek about stumbled back out of the front door as he dry heaved.

 

There was a body. A body of a young man. Sitting in an armchair with eyes and mouth wide open – frozen in terror forever. His skin was gray and blue, yet in perfect condition and with no sign of decay. His hair had turned white from a massive amount of stress – not a single strand of color left.

 

All over the floor...there were feathers.

 

Black feathers with blues and purples weaved in.

 

Majestic, long, vibrant feathers.

 

 _Raven_ feathers.

 

He finally staggered out the door, the world spinning. Lydia was a red herring. She wasn't the enemy. Lenore had been a red herring, too. She wasn't the enemy. There was a _raven_ in Canaan. There was a raven, right _now_ , in Beacon Hills. Yes, Lydia would be left behind as punishment for allowing a raven to be nearby. But Lydia wasn't the enemy. The raven was. Who was the raven?

 

Derek knew. He _knew_.

 

Collapsing on the street, Derek stared blankly ahead, not seeing Lydia and Kira approaching him with a soaking wet Scott and Malia. In fact...all he saw were raven feathers floating down from the sky. All he saw were those feathers dipped in blood.

 

All he saw was Stiles. Standing there with a cold, dead expression. Screaming in silence.

 

**~+~**

 


	7. Chapter 7

After returning from Canaan, after explaining the real reason why The Hunt was stuck in Beacon Hills (with the key note left out), after trying once again to confront the sheriff about the fact that he had a son to no avail...things...simply went down hill.

 

Less nicely put...it all went to utter shit.

 

It all started with Liam.

 

Liam thought it would be a brilliant idea to attempt to catch a Rider and have Parrish around, since during the party with the lacrosse team, (That was a fun tid bit to learn about. How they tried to protect a girl...and ended up dooming half of the school.) the deputy seemed to be spoken to by one of the members. Not only was that a _god awful_ idea, but Scott threw a fit when Derek expressed how bad of a plan it was. He refused to help, to which Scott was highly offended by, but Liam luckily suggested that maybe Derek should go talk to Peter to see if there was information the he could have.

 

Great idea. Best one Liam had yet.

 

With Malia and Lydia, they joined Melissa and Argent at the hospital, while the others went to capture a Rider. Peter had recovered and was about ready to be discharged. Of course, as he was about to leave his room, he was stopped by a rather peeved Melissa, who wasted no time in threatening many of his body parts.

 

(Derek knew there was a reason he liked Melissa.)

 

With some (surprisingly easy) arm pulling from Malia, Peter mentioned that he had the entire tome of the Hales uploaded to his laptop and had it done before it lost many of its pages. It would be in his apartment downtown and he would need to retrieve it. Of course, no one would allow him to go alone. His track record was well known. So was his view on sticking around and trying to get Stiles back, along with save the town. Without hesitation, Malia and Argent volunteered to escort him to and from the apartment.

 

Which left Melissa to go back to her work, and Derek and Lydia twiddling their thumbs. Itching to do something. _Anything_.

 

“We could always try the Stilinski house again...” she suggested, which Derek readily agreed to.

 

Upon their arrival, they found the place shockingly empty. Strange. Maybe the fake Claudia finally let her guard down? Or she was cocky. Whatever the reason, they had free reign. Which meant that they could...

 

Derek immediately began scaling the house, going straight for the window he had snuck through in the past. He ignored the Banshee's protests, too focused on reaching that window. Upon making it to the window...he...was confused. It was still there, unlike the room that was hidden behind ugly wallpaper. Wasn't hidden whatsoever. Showed right into the lifeless room that once held all of Stiles' possessions.

 

It was the second best discovery since this all started.

 

Better yet, the window was _unlocked_.

 

He slid right in, finding himself standing in the middle of the emptiness. Still carried Stiles' scent. Heavily. Left a hollow feeling in his chest. He wouldn't be able to last long in here before he lost it, mourning the vacant space full of reminders. Wasting no more time, he went to the blocked doorway and instantly began tearing down that hideous wallpaper. With the room now seen, there was no way that the sheriff couldn't ignore it. He would have to see that everyone was right. Hopefully. Please...

 

As he turned to climb right back out the window...he spotted something. There was a chair now in the corner. Resting upon it was a maroon and white shirt. Reeked of faint body odor and laundry detergent. Cautiously, Derek approached, spooked and curious. It wasn't until he was mindlessly rubbing the fabric between his fingers that he realized what this was.

 

It was Stiles' lacrosse jersey.

 

In excitement, he leaned out of the window, waving it out for Lydia to see. Her eyes bulged and she covered her mouth to stifle her gasp. She muttered to leave it. The sheriff _had_ to see it. Maybe that would be the memento he would need to remember his son. It was difficult to leave it, Stiles' scent muddied in the fabric, but the wolf knew that it had to remain behind.

 

He left it there, draped over the back of the chair he had moved to the middle of the room.

 

If that didn't get the sheriff's attention...nothing would.

 

The triumph was short lived. Making it down to the ground, he noticed Lydia making a troubled face. Before he could ask, she handed over her phone, a text message on the screen. It was from Scott. It was bad news. 

 

They had caught a Rider. It went off without a single hitch. Parrish was talking to the the Rider, getting nothing more than cryptic snippets that made no sense. But then something happened. The Rider did something and...

 

Parrish had set the Rider free. Fought everyone like it was nothing. Didn't even break a sweat! While everyone was down, he disappeared with the Rider in a fiery glory. Of fucking course. A Banshee, a raven, and a hellhound all in one area. Was The Wild Hunt's fucking wet dream! And to top it all off, Corey had been taken with them.

 

On the brightside...he left a memento that was found within seconds, so he wasn't forgotten.

 

The bad news, however, only got worse from there.

 

After they regrouped, there was an explosive shouting match. Mostly between Scott and Derek. Kira tried to intervene as best as she could. Hayden had, too. But _nothing_ was getting between the frustration and anger of an alpha and an ex alpha. Not until Malia came crashing into the McCall kitchen, wheezing and slurring about being ambushed while leaving Peter's apartment.

 

Argent had been taken.

 

Peter told Malia to run, sacrificing himself so she could return with the pages he printed.

 

Things fell silent. Lydia took the pages, eyes skimming through them before sighing, grabbing a pen, and sitting down at the table. Kira and Hayden took Malia's shoulders, taking her to the living room to rest. Liam bowed his head, eyes full of water and guilt. Mason continued to stare blankly at Corey's cellphone, a tear falling here and there. Scott left the kitchen, distracted while dialing a number.

 

With nothing to do, Derek locked himself in the guest bathroom. He undressed and shifted into his wolf form, curling up in a tight ball. In this form, things were simple. Didn't have to think. Didn't have to worry. Didn't have to bother with anything. The only thing he allowed to cross into that form was the longing for Stiles. For the motor mouth young man with a sharp tongue and a heart of gold. For his safe return. For the high hopes that The Hunt wouldn't succeed and kill Stiles once only Lydia was left behind.

 

He whined, burrowing his nose under his paws. This was killing him...keeping the secret that he thought, no, _knew_ , that Stiles was the raven. It made sense. Complete sense when he pieced every bit of memory he had together. No one would believe him, though. Not even Stiles himself if he didn't know already...

 

“Derek?”

 

He stiffened for a moment, unable to recognize the voice. The scent was what told him who it was. He raised his head, whining pitifully, and placed his nose right back under his paws. He wanted to be left alone. Didn't want anyone to comfort him. He was used to being alone in misery, after all...

 

“I'm going to unlock the door, okay?” Hayden informed quietly.

 

Derek wasn't able to tell her no. Not with that tone. He laid there, whining and crying. The door opened after a few seconds of lock picking, and Hayden carefully slipped in. She closed the door behind her, giving them privacy. Then, she sat on the floor beside him, soothingly stroking his fur. She said nothing – offered only her company. It was...thoughtful. She didn't know him. She probably only heard of him from the others, but depending on who she spoke with, the stories could be varied and easily biased.

 

Yet...here she was...comforting a stranger. Who wasn't even bipedal at the time being.

 

As she continued to stroke his fur, Derek began to cry harder, his whimpering growing. Hayden frowned, lying down on her side now. She rubbed gently at his ears, sighing a little.

 

“Did you love him? Stiles?”

 

The question shook him to the core. Did he? Did he love Stiles? Or was the boy just his anchor? A replacement of all his anger, turning it into hope and trust, despite it being slightly cynical and sarcastic? He cried harder, body shaking from it. The reality was too much for him. Between that, the chaos surrounding them, and being no closer to figuring out how to stop the Wild Hunt and save everyone...

 

He couldn't take it. He howled meekly, barely making it loud enough to escape the confines of the room. Hayden didn't say anything. Just kept rubbing his ears and running fingers through the fur. And when she started humming...it made Derek wail.

 

This time, he was heard.

 

Kira and Malia filed in first, cuddling with him the best they could. Liam followed, joining his girlfriend with gentle strokes. Mason and Lydia came last – Mason talking fondly of Corey, explaining that he understood Derek's pain, and Lydia still translating the printed pages. Scott was MIA, but that was okay. Their history was a rocky one.

 

Scott did walk in eventually, his hands hanging limply at his side. One hand held his phone...saying an all too familiar line.

 

_We're sorry. Your call cannot be completed as dialed. Please hang up, or try again._

 

Derek perked his head up, staring at Scott in horror. Well, as much horror as he could in this form. Scott had tears streaking his cheeks, mouth moving but no words flowing. All eyes fell on him, worried and afraid of what was happening.

 

Then, he said the most nauseating words imaginable.

 

“They took my mom...”

 

Things became frantic as the others began calling their loved ones, praying that they were safe.

 

 

_We're sorry. Your call cannot be completed as dialed. Please hang up, or try again._

 

_We're sorry. Your call cannot be completed as dialed. Please hang up, or try again._

 

_We're sorry. Your call cannot be completed as dialed. Please hang up, or try again._

 

_We're sorry. Your call cannot be completed as dialed. Please hang up, or try again._

 

_We're sorry. Your call cannot be completed as dialed. Please hang up, or try again._

 

 

Hope died there. Everyone vacated the bathroom, spreading themselves out in order to take in the fact that they just very well might be the only people left. That Beacon Hills was a ghost town. That they ran out of time. That they failed.

 

Being alone again, Derek nosed the door shut before shifting back to his bipedal form and dressed. He slumped out of the bathroom, the pages Lydia left behind in his hands. He was reading what she had translated...and it really wasn't anything helpful. It was everything they already knew.

 

Even the discovery of what happened when The Hunt was stuck and when they made a Tulpa.

 

All because they finally figured out that a raven, a Banshee, and a 'pet' hellhound was here...

 

He slid to the floor, staring at the pages with discontent. Why was it always this fucking town? Why?! And it wasn't just because of that fucking tree stump, either. Bad shit had been happening for years. Derek could count on both hands and feet how much bad shit happened before the tree came back to life. Just...why? What was it about this place that attracted such tragedy?

 

He was so far gone, engulfed by his sadness and anger, that he hadn't noticed someone was in front of him until they placed a hand on his shoulder. He blinked, stunned to see the sheriff. The aging man was smiling warmly, yet sorrowfully, at him. As if he knew. Then, without prompting, he said something that blew everything out of the water.

 

“You were right. You, and Lydia, were right. I have a son. His name was Mieczsław. But we called him Stiles.”

 

Derek gaped at him with eyes brimming with tears. Finally. _Finally_.

 

The rest of the pack joined them in the hall, looking just as relieved as Derek felt.

 

“He could never say his name when he was little. Don't know why. It just rolls off the tongue. The closet he got was Mischief. His mother called him that more than I did. Mostly when he got into, well, mischief. Which he always did. In fact, none of this would be happening if he didn't drag his best friend out to the woods to see a dead body. But then...he would have never had so many amazing friends. And I wouldn't have met such amazing kids, who I consider to be my own children.”

 

(If anyone said they weren't close to sobbing, they were full of lies.)

 

The sheriff squeezed at Derek's shoulder, growing serious. “His room...it came back. When I picked up the jersey, this ball of red string fell from it. Then this...crime board showed up. With each piece I put together with that string...more and more of his room appeared. More and more of the memories. And then...then there was this light. And for a moment...I _saw_ him. I _saw_ _my son_. His memory opened something, despite it being for a short time. I think that's what needs to be done. He needs to be remembered _more_. And not just any memory. But something strong enough. If we can mange that...we'll save this hole of a town yet. And my son.”

 

Hope sparked. 

 

Derek clapped the sheriff on his own shoulder, gripping it tight. Resolution rested in his being. He nodded, skimming the room to see the same fire in the others. The fight was back. They were not going to lose.

 

His gaze rested upon Scott, whose eyes were that of an alpha at last. They both nodded, tearing away from each other and bouncing around to each person again.

 

“Okay. We have something.” Scott said with authority. “Now we need to use it in our favor. Anyone have ideas?”

 

**~+~**

 


	8. Chapter 8

It wasn't the best plan. Plans weren't anyone's strongest asset. Plans were _Stiles'_ department. But they were short one Stiles, so this plan would have to do. No matter how begrudged any of them were about it.

 

Kira and the sheriff made it up, initially. Suggesting that those that were closest to Stiles go to Argent's bunker for solitude and try to remember Stiles more. The sheriff said he had already tried back in the bedroom, and it didn't work one hundred percent. He thought that maybe that first, accidental attempt would make the barrier keeping his son trapped thin enough for someone else to break it. Everyone else would keep the attention of The Hunt away from them as they tried to open up the gate to wherever Stiles was being kept.

 

Derek, Scott, Malia, and Lydia would try to get Stiles back.

 

The sheriff, Mason, Hayden, Liam, and Kira would distract the Riders.

 

At first, Scott and Derek were loudly protesting this. Saying that the sheriff at the very least should be the one to bring Stiles back.

 

“ _I had my chance. It didn't work. Like I said, it may have thinned the layer between. If one of you, or all of you, can make it just that much thinner...we'll bring him home. Now, quit arguing and go!”_

 

There were no arguments after that. Just hung heads and solemn 'good lucks' before breaking off.

 

Derek wasn't surprised that Argent had a bunker. It seemed very...Argent. What _did_ surprise him was that there was a chamber that could drop one's body to dangerously low temperatures. And that Lydia was insistent in using it.

 

“It worked for Jordan.” was her argument.

 

“Parrish is a _hellhound_.” hissed Derek, flirting with the borders of infuriated and exasperated. “Hellhounds can survive literally _anything_. You are a Banshee, the _most human_ out of any of us here. Yes, Malia is a coyote. Yes, Scott and I are werewolves. But if you put us in there, we can easily get hypothermia the same as _anyone else_. We're not using it.”

 

“You have a plan B?” Malia inquired with a hint of relief. (Apparently the idea of going into a cold as hell chamber wasn't appealing to her, either.)

 

Derek nodded, pointing at the table on the other side of the room. “Hypnotism. Or Memory Walking, as my mother called it.”

 

Scott wrinkled his nose, obviously skeptical. Lydia, however, seemed impressed.

 

“My mom went to a hypnotist to stop her smoking habit, then sent me to stop my nail biting habit. It could work. Who wants to go first?”

 

Scott volunteered. They all agreed that if he showed any signs of extreme distress or nothing happened in five minutes, they would move on to Malia. Lydia, having the most experience with this, conducted the session. Malia and Derek paced, both chewing on their lips and fingers in anticipation.

 

During the session with Scott...Kira sent a text. Hayden and Mason had been taken.

 

Three left.

 

Malia was growing impatient just in time for Lydia to break Scott out of his hypnosis. Strike one with remembering Stiles more. Scott joined Derek in pacing and looking around for the ball of light that the sheriff described. Didn't even hear Lydia lead Malia into her hypnosis.

 

“He saved me...” Scott managed during the pacing. “I...I was under the influence of The Darach. I was going to blow myself up with gasoline and a flare. He...he said if I was going to do that...then he was going with me. Because we're brothers...and...” He bowed his head in shame, sighing. “I was such an ass to him. When we do this, when we save him...I'm going to make it up to him so hard.”

 

“He probably won't think that you need to, but do it anyways.” suggested Derek. “He might appreciate feeling like he is needed and wanted.”

 

“I know he will. So many people don't believe him when he says stuff. So many people dismiss him. Including me...”

 

Derek didn't say anything. Didn't correct the young alpha. Didn't mention how, no matter how paranoid or stupid some of the things Stiles said sounded...that he always believed him. It was hard not to when time after time it was proven that Stiles was right.

 

This wasn't the time nor the place to tell Scott this.

 

It was better to let Scott work out his guilt on his own rather than make him feel worse.

 

Malia startled out of her hypnosis, eyes flashing and body shivering. Lydia reached out for her while Scott and Derek rushed over to drain any pain. There was none, despite her face being twisted in discomfort. She looked around, frantic and still looking like she was in some form of pain.

 

“Did it work? Did we get a portal or something?”

 

The silence told her all she needed to know.

 

She slumped in the chair, frustrated. “So now what? That's two strikes!”

 

“We need to keep trying.” Lydia said calmly. “It's Derek's turn. Then my turn. If it doesn't work then...well...maybe I'll make a Tulpa out of you? Like Lenore did with her son. If Lenore actually made him.”

 

“That's not funny.”

 

“Was worth a shot.” Lydia glanced up at Derek, the fear showing only for a moment. “Come on. Your turn.”

 

Derek worried at his lip as he took Malia's place. He had never done this before. He had wondered about it. But, from all the horror stories Laura and his big brother told him, fake or not, the idea scared the hell out of him. Having your mind probed by yourself. Walking through a memory like watching some sort of live action movie. That one time with his mother's claws didn't count. That was a different type of Walk. Easier. 

 

Needless to say...he was starting to hate the fact that he demanded this option instead of the chamber.

 

“Close your eyes. Take a deep breath. Relax.”

 

He heaved a sigh, closing his eyes. He tried to relax, he really did. But it wasn't working, judging by the disgruntled flick at his forehead.

 

“Derek! You need to focus! And in order to do that, you need to _relax_!”

 

“I kind of can't do that if you're flicking my forehead.”

 

“Just...breathe.”

 

He tried again, taking a deep breath. Relax. Easier said than done. How was he supposed to relax? Especially with Scott whispering poorly to Malia that the sheriff had been taken. At least he was with his Stiles again...

 

Wait...Stiles...

 

He leaned back in the chair, resting his hands on the table. Exhaling deeply once more, he tricked his mind into focusing on a smell for a source of comfort. Spices. Sweet spices. Slowly, he could feel himself relax. Dangerously close to falling asleep. He hadn't slept well since coming back...

 

“Good. That's good, Derek. Now...you are in your home. It's bright, alive, warm. You are on the first floor, and all the doors are closed. Walk to the first door.”

 

Derek opened his eyes, about to ask why she picked his house. But...he wasn't in the bunker. He was...he was in his _house_. When it was vibrant – full of life and laughter. That old wallpaper that he had helped his dad repair when it started peeling off. The one light in the middle that was always flickering because nobody wanted to replace the malfunctioning parts. The pictures on the wall, some he was fond of, and one in particular he wished his mother hadn't hung up in the first place.

 

(He didn't care how cute he was as a baby, nobody needed to be subjected to him lying on a hideous shag carpet with his butt on display.)

 

Like Lydia had said, the doors were all closed. Lights were flowing out from beneath the cracks. He approached the first one – his parents' room. He stood there, hesitant to open it without instruction.

 

“Are you at the first door?” he heard Lydia echo in whispers through the walls.

 

He nodded, fingers twitching.

 

“Good. Open the door. Don't be afraid.”

 

He didn't need to be told twice. He twisted the knob, throwing open the door.

 

He stood there, gawking. His parents' room wasn't that. Instead, it was the floor of an elevator at Beacon Hills Memorial Hospital. The lights were flickering, some completely darkened, making it strangely difficult for him to see. His ears, however, still worked perfectly.

 

“ _DEREK?!”_

 

He flinched, the voice ringing in his ears. The panic sounding like nails on a chalkboard.

 

“ _DEREK! COME ON!”_

 

He flinched again, curling into himself. The lights suddenly became less dim. On the elevator floor, he saw himself, unconscious. Above him was a panicking boy in a plaid shirt with too much gel in the hair. He was shaking Derek, breathing heavily. He smacked him, trying to gain a response. Derek wasn't moving still. Unresponsive. Lanky fingers curled into a fist and came down upon him. Only...Derek awoke, catching the wrist. The scent of relief started to flood his nose.

 

They remained there, sharing the same hardened breaths. Derek looked around, searching for someone. Someone no longer there.

 

“Where is she?”

 

“ _Jennifer? She's gone. With Scott's mom.”_

 

“She took her?”

 

“ _Yeah. And if that isn't enough kick to the balls, Scott left with Deucalion. Okay, so we gotta get you out of here. The police are coming right now. We gotta get you the hell out of here!”_

 

The door slammed shut in his face, making a ferocious boom. Derek staggered backwards, bewildered. He gripped at the knob, frantically twisting it to no avail. That memory was no longer giving access to him.

 

“Derek...I need you to calm down. Okay? Whatever happened, I need you to move on from it and go to the next door. Do you understand? Go to the next door.”

 

He huffed in protest, but obliged. He went to the next door, Laura's room, and waited for the go ahead to open it. He knew it wouldn't be Laura's room. That it would be another memory. Which was good and he wanted to get on with it. The more memories – the more likely that everything would fall into place for their success.

 

Hopefully.

 

“If you're at the next door...open it.”

 

He swung the door open, this time entering. Chlorine clogged his senses. Of course it did. He was at the pool. The high school's pool. Surveying the area, he noted Erica lying on the floor (allowing himself to feel the pull of grief to wash over him briefly) and a reptilian creature pacing around the edges of the pool. A predator waiting for the prey to tire.

 

Its prey was floating in the pool. Derek recognized himself instantly, holding back the itching thought of him looking like a wet dog. Holding his paralyzed body up was a baby faced teen in a track suit. The hair was buzzed off, god, he forgot about that cut. They both appeared worn down, the teen more so. His cheeks were flushed – breathing labored.

 

“ _Hey...okay...okay, I don't think I can do this much longer.”_

 

Derek's head started to be lowered, the fear of being left to drown hitting him hard. “No no no no no no! Don't even think about it!”

 

“ _Can't you trust me just this once?”_

 

“NO!”

 

“ _I'm the one keeping you alive, okay? Have you noticed that?”_

 

“Yeah. And when the paralysis wears off, who's gonna to be able to fight that thing? You or me?”

 

“ _Okay, so that's why I've been holding you up for the past two hours?”_

 

That's right...two hours. At the time, he marveled at how a human could to that. How it was far from human. He understood _now_ , but back then...then it was just one more thing to set on the table of things that made him conflicted in his emotions towards the teen.

 

“Yeah. You don't trust me. I don't trust you. You need me to survive. Which is why you are not letting me go.”

 

The words drummed hollowly through his body. He couldn't believe he said that. That he was so distrusting of the very person keeping him alive. Seeing the expression of 'well fuck you too buddy' as Derek was let go...he resigned to it. He deserved it.

 

“STILES!”

 

He watched as he floated towards the bottom...drowning at a torturous pace. He remembered how peaceful it was for a while. How he thought, _Finally...I'll see them again._ Didn't even notice the body above him. Not until it went right back for him, hoisting him up with every ounce of strength to the surface.

 

Just like with the last memory, it abruptly ended. Derek was shot out of the room, colliding with another door. The knob dug into his back and he stumbled around till he was on the floor on his side. Well...that one packed quite a wallop. Must've been a strong memory.

 

“Derek? Are you okay?”

 

He grunted, sitting up and grimacing. “Yes.”

 

“Do you think you can try one more door?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Good. Go to the next door and open it.”

 

He nodded, gingerly getting back up to his feet. For a Walk around in the mind, the pain was sure real. Definitely not going to do this _ever_ again. He turned around, facing the door that had done him wrong, immediately changing his tune when he saw it.

 

A Superman logo was stuck to the door, along with a few wolf stickers speckled about. He swallowed and suddenly felt ill. The door...this was _his_ room. Of course it was his room. Why wouldn't it be? Hesitantly, he turned the knob and pushed the door open. It was dark inside. Void on anything. It should pose as some threat. An ominous sign of dread. It...wasn't. There was something inviting about it. Without a second thought, he stepped inside, holding his breath.

 

The door closed and locked behind him. Guess he wasn't leaving any time soon.

 

He wandered around aimlessly, allowing himself to be swallowed. He didn't know what this meant. Didn't know if it was good or bad. Either way...it was peaceful. Eventually, he sat down on the floor, staring ahead into the abyss. Waiting patiently.

 

Voices bounced off the empty space. They were impossible to understand. They kept coming at rapid fire speeds, causing Derek to cover his ears and hunch over. Stop...make them stop...why won't they stop?!

 

“ _Why won't you trust me?!”_

 

Light shined in his face, nearly blinding him. He did not shield himself. His arms didn't raise like he was commanding. They were tightly crossed against his chest, holding himself like he was about to fall apart. He found himself in the loft, standing in the middle of the Spartan space. In front of him, not even three feet away was...

 

“Stiles...go home. Be a normal teenager. Get drunk. Chase girls. Sneak out of your house.”

 

Stiles did not find that funny. He was glaring, running a hand through his ever growing hair. The teen paced in one spot, not going far. He stopped, approaching the wolf with a finger pointed at him, before going right back to it. As if he was piecing together what to say. It wouldn't surprise Derek. Stiles sometimes had trouble spitting out what he wanted to say when riled up.

 

He did this a few more times, letting out an aggravated shout each time. Finally, he got right into Derek's face, doe eyes watering.

 

“ _You know what...no! I **won't** go home! I **won't** get drunk 'cause I did that once, and it was overrated! I **won't** chase girls, because I need to get over Lydia and chasing girls is only going to make me look desperate and it won't be fair to those girls that I'm basically using them to wallow in my own self-pity! And I sneak out of my house all the time so **ha**! Joke's on **you**!”_

 

Derek rolled his eyes, holding his ground but...

 

Inside, he wanted to crumble. To scream and snarl. To throw Stiles out by force. Because Stiles didn't need to be involved in this. It would only get his dumb ass killed.

 

“This isn't any of your business.”

 

“ _Hell yeah it's my business!”_

 

“Stiles...no it's not. Just go home.”

 

“ _No!”_

 

He got right up into Derek's space, closer than he was already. His emotions were pouring out now. It was suffocating. So immensely suffocating. How could one person let so much come out without putting a cap on it?

 

“ _I thought we were past this?! I spent my entire summer searching for Erica and Boyd with you. I helped plan the vault break-in. I saved your ass more times than I can count. I just...I thought you'd trust me by now...”_

 

The amount of hurt in his voice ached. Created a burning hole in Derek's chest. But he had to get Stiles to leave. He couldn't bear -

 

“ _Are you doing to me what you did to Isaac?”_ He snorted, laughing nervously. _“Well, I got news for you, buddy! I'm not going anywhere! So get used to this ugly mug!”_

 

Derek huffed, eyes shining red. “Stiles...”

 

“ _I'm not a werewolf, dude. The flashy eyes isn't going to work on me.”_

 

He was over this. The kid had to leave. “Go. Home.”

 

“ _I'm not going **anywhere**. I'm staying **right here**.”_ Stiles let out a sigh, head drooping. _“Look...I get it. You feel guilty. I...I get that. I know how it feels.”_ He bit the inside of his lip, smelling like he was going to burst into tears. _“I always wondered...if...if I had just behaved better...if I wasn't so loud...if I wasn't rambunctious...if I hadn't been such a motormouth, a troublemaker, a liar...if...if she wouldn't have died...”_

 

It didn't take rocket science to know what Stiles was talking about. Derek felt sick to his stomach. Could physically feel the color drain from his face. He opened his mouth to stop this before it got any bigger, but, as always, Stiles beat him to the chase.

 

“ _I know it wasn't my fault. I know that she was sick...and that she was never going to get better. But on her bad days...those days she...she always screamed that I was killing her. After she died and dad just...drank and drank and drank...I believed it. I believed that I killed her. Some days...I still do. Even though I know it wasn't my fault...”_

 

“Stiles...”

 

“ _And you wanna know something, you dumbass? I'm certain nobody has told you this...but I'm going to right now. And you bet your ass you're gonna listen.”_

 

“Don't...”

 

“ _Erica wasn't your fault.”_

 

Derek deflated. His arms barely could hold him together. He was close, so damned close, to collapsing with the weight of those words.

 

And Stiles kept on going.

 

“ _Boyd wasn't your fault. The shit with Jennifer wasn't your fault. Cora leaving wasn't your fault. The fire wasn't your fault. Peter wasn't your fault. Laura wasn't your fault. And while on the subject of Laura...I'm so fucking sorry for what Scott and I did. We came in, two nosy kids who had no idea what the hell they were doing, and we dug up your sister. We screwed up your life. And to top it all off...Scott was a pain in the ass, and I went along with him 'cause he's my best friend and the whole loyalty thing. And I'm sure no one tells you this either, so here it is: I'm on your side, Derek. I always have been. If you can believe that.”_

 

Derek gaped at the boy, lips parted. This...this was when it happened. When anger no longer tied him to his humanity. It was this kid. This total stranger that waltzed into his life and never left. Even when Derek did, Stiles found ways to never leave. Whether it be asking how his day was, to sending him weird crap called memes...Stiles was _always_ there.

 

Always came back.

 

Wouldn't leave.

 

Ever.

 

The wolf didn't know he was cracking until his vision went blurry and he found himself swiping away tears. Stiles...this...annoying, sarcastic, anxious, babbling, smart, kind, loyal, brave person had found a way to burrow deep underneath Derek's skin. So deep that the anchor he had for years melted away with just two sentences: _I'm on your side, Derek. I always have been._

 

Derek snapped to, dazed and shaken. He blinked, fighting to clear his vision of water. While doing so, he tried to blink away this annoying light. It was blinding.

 

Wait...light...

 

He bolted from the chair, joining the others gathering around it. Scott and Malia were slightly farther from it, wary and curious. Lydia was closer, calling for Stiles softly. He took his place by her side, squinting. On the other side was a faint outline of a tunnel, but no one was there. He felt Lydia grip at his sleeve, quivering as she kept calling for Stiles.

 

Then, from deep in the tunnel, came an outline of a person.

 

Derek knew that shape from anywhere.

 

Judging by the gasp from Lydia, she did, too.

 

“Stiles?!” she cried out with more oomph, the triumph feeling in her tone lifting the mood.

 

The figure started moving towards them. It was getting closer and closer and closer – each step causing Derek's heart to thunder wildly. They did it. They got Stiles back!

 

Then, as fast as it appeared, it vanished. The light was gone. _Stiles_ was gone.

 

To make matters worse...Scott and Malia hadn't seen anyone.

 

Followed by Liam sending them a message that crushed them to bits: _**They got Kira**_

 

And then there was one...

 

**~+~**

 


	9. Chapter 9

Stiles gasped erratically, his throat feeling like it had been closed for eons. He flailed in the seat of the Jeep, at a total loss of why he popped out here of all places. Especially when he was so close to rushing through that light towards his friends.

 

Oh well. Can't have shit always go your way.

 

At least he was out. It was just a matter of getting everyone else out now...

 

Of course he had a plan! When did he not _ever_ have a plan? (“Several times, Stiles. Several times you _didn't_ have a plan.”) The issue was getting the hell out of the school parking lot and getting a hold of everyone else. From what he saw, they were in Argent's bunker. With any luck, he could get through to them on the police scanner again. After all, he had snuck Argent one a few months back.

 

Now to hope that it was actually on.

 

He searched around the glove box for the screwdriver he used to sometimes start the Jeep. Since he didn't have his keys, the screwdriver would have to do. Lord, he really needed to clean out his glove box. There was too much crap in this thing. And why the hell was the screwdriver all the way in the back?! That's not where he put it last! Was it?

 

Huffing and puffing, he fiddled with the ignition, fighting to spark his baby to life.

 

“C'mon, Roscoe. C'mon, baby. C'mon. Start start start. C'moooooooon, daddy needs a new pair of shoes! Not really, but you know what I'm saying. C'mon. Start start start start. Please start, Roscoe. I'll take you to that really expensive car wash you like so much.”

 

That had to be the magic words, because the engine roared harder and louder than it had ever done before. He was overwhelmed with excitement that he didn't move for a minute or so. When he got some money back, along with a whole new everything for a wallet because Peter is a dick, he definitely needed to take the Jeep to that car wash. For good luck.

 

His police scanner was on, the static ear splitting after the initial joy of success simmered down. It was, oddly enough, a sound he missed. He stroked it, cooing fondly and managed a grin. It was short lived, of course. Because he had things to do. He gripped the radio, shakily letting out a breath. Please let Argent's scanner be on. Please let them still be in the bunker. Please let them be okay. He saw his dad at the train station...please let everyone else be at the bunker. Or anyone around at all. Please... _ **please**_...

 

“This is Stiles Stilinski, I'm calling out for anyone – anyone at all – that can hear me. Does anyone copy? Is anyone there? I repeat, this is Stiles Stilinski, calling out for anyone that can hear me. Does anyone copy?”

 

A pause. A bubble of fear. Was everyone gone? Did The Hunt get to them before he manifested back into existence? God...no...no no no...no...

 

He started to slump in the seat, his chest rising quicker than it could fall. He was ready to give up. Ready to surrender himself back to where he just came from. When...

 

“Stiles?”

 

The world became bright. He about lost his head hearing his ex responding back. To be honest, any of their enemies could reply and he would be ecstatic that someone was around. He ran his fingers through his hair, overcome with emotions.

 

“Oh, thank god. It's good to hear your voice. It's good to hear anyone, really. Hearing just an announcement saying that trains were delayed was maddening. You guys still at the bunker, right?”

 

“Yeah. Yeah, we're here.”

 

“Good. Stay there. Don't go anywhere. I'll come to you guys.”

 

There was another pause. Possibly a small argument between them. Some wanting to come to him – some wanting to obey him. Regardless, he hated the quiet. Was about to ask if anyone was home.

 

“Stiles?” came Scott's voice.

 

“Scott! Oh man...so good to hear your voice, too. How are you, man?”

 

“Could be better. Stiles, where are you?”

 

“I'm at the school. But that doesn't matter. I'm coming to you. I need to know what you found in Canaan and if you looked at the bestiary. There has to be something in there about these creeps.”

 

“Stiles, stay where you are. We're coming for you.”

 

“What? No! Didn't you hear what I just said?! Stay _there_! We have to regroup! Exchange information!”

 

“Stiles, listen...they have everyone but Liam. At least, I think they didn't take Liam. We still remember him.”

 

“Who is we? Did they get Lydia? Derek?”

 

“No. They're with Malia and me. Stiles...in Canaan...we found a woman. A Banshee. Derek said that sometimes the Wild Hunt views a Banshee as an enemy instead of a possible leader for them, and leave them behind while they take everyone else. But if a raven is around, they do it faster, taking the raven as one of the first, and then when everyone but the Banshee is gone, they put the raven back dead. And with how fast people are being taken, it means that a raven is in Beacon Hills.”

 

“That's all fine and dandy, but what happens when there is also a friggin' hellhound around?! Does that make things a bigger clusterfuck? Is he locked up just in case he could make things a clusterfuck?"

 

“We haven't found really  anything yet in the pages we translated.”

 

“Page? You have pages of the bestiary? Did you finish translating?”

 

There was a third pause. Third rotation. This time, it was Lydia.

 

“I...I didn't finish translating. We had just learned that Scott's mom, Argent, and Peter had been taken. We were all pretty shaken up. Then your dad came, told us about how your memory started opening a portal of some sort, and we got carried away in that.”

 

“Where are those pages right now?”

 

“At Scott's.”

 

Of course they were. “Okay...okay...so here's what we're going to do: Lydia, you and Malia go back to Scott's. You get those pages and you translate them on your way to the school. That is the _only_ way I'm going to allow a little rendezvous here. And while you two do that, Scott and Derek, you get Liam and you haul ass over here. Dunno what we're gonna do over here. Guess clue me in on the information so I can come up with a plan to save all of our asses. I mean, I have something, but hearing what you're saying now...guess I need a little more in order to come up with something more -”

 

The world began to tremble. Swearing, Stiles shoved himself our of the Jeep, not wanting to be caught in an earthquake in a vehicle. But the very second he stumbled onto the gravel...he realized that it wasn't a quake.

 

Something was shifting. Train tracks appeared out of nowhere from the trees, slinking their way into the front of the school. Lightning and thunder danced around in the sky – green in hue. And then, again, out of nowhere, people were marching to the school. All the people he had seen in the train station The Hunt kept them in were there. Most of them. He didn't see his dad, Argent, Melissa, Kira, or any of the baby pack in the zombie-like walk. That was good. At least...he hoped it was good.

 

“-iles? Stiles?!”

 

The voice brought him back. He whipped his head around, feeling his heart flutter. He hadn't heard Derek sound this frantic in ages. For some reason, it made his skin buzz with...something. He could think about that later.

 

He lunged himself head first into the Jeep, grabbing the radio. “I'm here. I'm okay. Did you guys feel that?”

 

“Yeah. What the hell was it?”

 

“Um, well, you want the bad news, or the worse news?”

 

“The _what_?!”

 

“The bad news? Okay. So, the bad news is that there are suddenly train tracks coming from out of the woods, and they go right into the high school. The worse news is that everybody, save for some of our favorite people, are marching into that school like they're reenacting, poorly, might I add, The Night Of The Living Dead! I have no idea what the hell is going on, but I'm pretty damn sure that this isn't normal.”

 

“No, it isn't.”

 

“You think it's because of the fact that a Banshee, a hellhound, _and_ a raven are here?”

 

“I don't know. Just stay there. Don't do anything. We'll be there as fast as we can.”

 

Stiles opened his mouth to snark back, make a comment about hurrying before he was fifty. He didn't get the chance. There was a click near his forehead. One that belonged to a gun. He glanced up, eyes bulging out of their sockets. A Rider was there – pistol poised and ready.

 

“Ohhh damn...”

 

The Rider curled its finger around the trigger, going excruciatingly slow about it. Likely to play some sick, sadistic game. Stiles saw this as an opportunity. Since the undead looking freak was so kind in opening the passenger door to lean in, Stiles was kind enough to yank at the trench coat and pull it down to the floor. The Rider struggled, the gun going off right above them. Barely missed Stiles by a few inches.

 

He shrieked, jetting out of the driver's side while he had the chance. He booked towards the back of the school, running faster than he had ever done in his entire life. Guess he would have to thank Coach when he saw the guy next. All those stupid cross-country trips and suicide runs were paying off.

 

The entire run, he kept hearing the Rider's gun go off. It was a lot of pops simultaneously. None, of course, hit their mark. Either this guy was a shitty shot...or this chase was being purposely prolonged. A predator playing with its prey. Or a killer playing with their victim, causing psychological torment.

 

Fuck The Hunt! Bastards, the lot of them!

 

Stiles threw open the back door of the school that led to the locker rooms. Racing down the hall, he flung himself into the first door he could reach. Turned out to be the Girls' Locker Room. Which also turned out to be identical to the Boys' Locker Room. Minus the staggering stench of BO. And of course this locker room had a dispenser for pads and tampons.

 

“What did I even expect? Narnia?”

 

The echo of the back doors slamming shut startled him back to reality. He was being chased. Right. Hide. He needed to _hide_. Clambering around, he tore at the lockers. One of them had to be opened. One of them just had to be! No teenager was _that_ responsible!

 

Sure enough, in his desperation, he found a locker that hadn't been locked. He squeezed inside, holding it closed with all his might. The bastard was going to have to rip his arm off in order to get him out! Or over his dead body!

 

(He would prefer to not have either happen. He would like to stay intact, thank you very much.)

 

Stiles clasped his free hand over his mouth, stifling his breathing. The boots roaming the hall was haunting. Taunting. Maddening. Part of him wanted to leap out and announce his presence. End this. But no. He wasn't going to do that. He was going to hide. He was going to wait it out till the pack got here. Numbers. Safety in numbers. Strength in numbers. All that jazz.

 

The door to the locker room swung open, booming against the wall. Stiles flinched, barely stopping himself from ducking low into the locker. Through the grates, he could see the Rider sauntering in like it owned the place. The Rider surveyed the room rather poorly – not trying whatsoever. It started to make this...weird noise. Garbled, muffled, kind of like it's supposed to be talking but so did not form words.

 

It did very little to calm Stiles' nerves.

 

Made them worse, honestly.

 

His knees started to buckle. He felt himself slide down in the locker, losing sight of the Rider. But he could still hear those boots. Hear them pace around the locker room. The sound of what was supposed to be talking got louder. And louder. And louder. And louder. It was starting to ring unpleasantly in Stiles' ears. And that ring started to grow louder as well. Louder. Louder. Louder. Louder.

 

“ **We know you are here, raven.”**

 

Words. That garbled, muffled mess that was just noise...they became _words_. Raspy words. Words Stiles could _understand_. His eyes rounded to the size of saucers. Oh crap. Oh crap oh crap oh crap oh crap _oh crap_!

 

“ **We know you are here, Morrigan Guardian.”**

 

He trembled, feeling his throat tighten.

 

“ **We do not need the Banshee. The Banshee is not a pure Morrigan. The Banshee is the enemy.”**

 

He fought back the angry shout he wanted to unleash. Derek's bit of knowledge he had shared with Scott and the others was true. Terribly true. Only...now he knew why they sometimes viewed a Banshee as an enemy. How did a Banshee become a pure Morrigan? Was is a hit and miss thing? What were the variables...

 

“ **We will take the hellhound. The hellhound is perfect. Good dog. Will help us gather more.”**

 

Parrish. Dammit! So they were going to take everyone, leave Lydia behind, and make Parrish do things he would never do?! And let's not forget the whole killing the raven thing! What was with these assholes and their distaste against ravens? Ravens were cool! Plus she was the best Teen Titan. (Next to Beast Boy, of course.)

 

“ **We will take them all. Keep the strong. Dust the weak. Slit the throat of the wolves. Wolves have no place with us.”**

 

He curled his fingers deep into the flesh around his mouth. He felt warm liquid form around his nails, which meant only one thing: the control was slipping. He hunched over, biting the inside of his cheeks to deny a grunt of disappointment. He had been so good with control. Perfect with it. Hidden it all so well. And this stupid Rider was _breaking it_!

 

“ **You are in the way, Morrigan Guardian, raven. You must go. Let us take you. Stop hiding. Surrender. Let us take you. Let us skin you. Let us boil you. Let us pluck the feathers one by one. Let us destroy your existence.”**

 

Stiles shook with red hot anger. He was in the way, huh? They wanted to kill him, huh? The words of what Derek had said fluttered in his brain. Scratched at it. The Wild Hunt were scared of ravens. More importantly, _male_ ones.

 

Well...they had a male raven right here.

 

Time to show this dick why it should be afraid.

 

He closed his eyes, slowing his breathing to the point that it was almost nonexistent. He removed his hand away from his mouth as talons began to form. He felt his mouth shift faintly, his teeth turning into the rows of razors that some birds had. He could feel his eyes and face burning. Tiny pin pricks touched the rest of his body, creating a brief wave of nausea. He had only done this one time to see how he looked, then never did it again. Swearing to feign human as long as he lived.

 

Guess he could redo that swear after this.

 

Once he felt the shift complete, he slithered his body around in the locker, peering out to see the location of the Rider. Ah. It still didn't know which locker he was in. Perfect. He barely opened his mouth, lips moving at an intense, rapid speed as he mimicked the same sound the Rider had made before the words.

 

The Rider jerked its head towards the door of the locker room, startled and confused. It moved towards where it thought the communication was coming from. Excellent. As it walked cautiously to the entrance to the room, Stiles slid out of the locker as silent as a ghost. He stealthily snuck behind the Rider, the spark inside him rumbling. When the Rider realized it had been duped, whipping around and reaching for its pistol...

 

Stiles unleashed a powerful, ear splitting, avian-like shriek.

 

The vibrations sent the Rider hurling into the door. It seemed dazed, head rolling. That gave Stiles all the time he needed to hoisted the Rider back onto its feet, tossing it into a row of lockers like it weighed nothing. The lockers caved and fell back like dominoes, making the most numbing crashing sound. The Rider got back up from that quick, pointing its pistol at the raven.

 

Idiot.

 

Stiles held his hand out, talons curved in as if gripping something. Didn't take long for them to actually grip something. The pistol flew out of the Rider's hand and went straight into Stiles'. Momentarily stunned, Stiles pistol whipped the Rider hard enough to send it to the floor. The rage rose to the surface. The taunts picked at his mind. He kicked at the Rider's face, slashed at it with the talons, shrieked at it – just...beat the crap out of it. The rotted skin peeled back to reveal a dead eye of some poor sucker that had been turned.

 

For a second, Stiles hesitated.

 

He had killed people before. Once in self-defense. Several times when possessed.

 

Could he do it again? Like this?

 

The Rider laid there, no signs of life. At that moment, Stiles raised his head, exhaling deep relief. As his head came up, he caught his reflection in the mirror.

 

He saw his hair dyed a pitch black with hues of dark blues and purples, which appeared eerily natural. As if that was his true hair color. His eyes were blackened out, the only color a gleam of an almost blood violet. Around his eyes were these thick wings of black that looked tattooed on. Above the eyes, up in his hairline, and went all the way down beneath the collar of his shirt, were small runes in a stripe. They danced around in a tight knit circle, making it close to impossible to read what they meant. (It took Stiles months before he discovered they translated into one word: _protect_.) He knew, under his layers of clothes, were those same runes, only larger.

 

And they glowed the same blue as Derek's eyes.

 

 _This_ was a raven.

 

It was...pretty unnerving the first time he saw it. Scared him away from ever revealing this secret. Seeing it again...he felt strangely powerful. Like he wasn't weak anymore. That he was something spectacular. That he wasn't left alone in the cold while everyone else placed their lives on the line.

 

Too bad he would have to hide this all over again...

 

A hand shot out at his ankle, pulling it out from under him. He hollered out, sounding like himself. When he landed, he was instantly topped by the Rider. This...inhuman wail emanated from its forever closed mouth. It rattled the walls. Made the lights flicker. The hands were wrapped around Stiles' throat, cutting off all air. He struggled to remove them, despite using his hidden strength. Then, he noticed that the Rider decided to divide the attention. Half of it was focused on strangling Stiles to death. The other was on the pistol that had been dropped in the fall.

 

Stiles focused on the pistol, sluggishly sliding it towards him. The Rider continued to wail, now furious. It was an excruciating process. Stiles was close to passing out. The pistol was still too far away. His telepathic ability wasn't working when oxygen was being cut off. Dammit. He was screwed...

 

A roar shot through the wails.

 

The Rider was suddenly flung off of him.

 

Stiles gasped for air, choking on the eagerness to breathe. Leaping above him, beta'd out was...

 

“Derek?”

 

Derek roared again, wrestling with the Rider for dominance. This had to be the best thing to happen to Stiles all day. He scurried to his feet, making a b-line for the pistol.

 

These weapons could cause people to disappear – be forgotten. What happened if it hit its owner? 

 

Stiles scooped the pistol up off the floor, snapping back around and aiming. He cocked it, steadying his arms. People had always scoffed at giving him a gun. Did things to make him look incompetent with it. (Looking at you, Braeden.) But he wasn't as stupid as he played. Not one bit.

 

“Derek! Move!”

 

There was no hesitation. Derek dove out of the way, throwing the Rider closer to the raven. With a wicked smirk, the pistol went off. The Rider let out this cross between a scream and a sob. Its body started to disintegrate at the feet. The disintegration crawled up to the knees, then the waist, then the chest, and finally the head. Nothing was left. Even the pistol evaporated from Stiles' grasp.

 

“Thank god...” he muttered, hands in his hair.

 

It was at then that he realized that he was still shifted. Shit. He gaped at Derek in horror, terrified of what was going to happen now. But Derek just stared back, glossing him over as if some form of curiosity had been sated.

 

“Derek....look...I-I can -”

 

“I've never seen a male raven before.” the wolf whispered in awe. “You look...”

 

“Freaky? Scary? Ugly?”

 

“Beautiful.”

 

Oh. That was...not a word he expected to ever hear coming out of Derek's mouth. The word sent a wave of emotions colliding through him. He didn't know what to do. What to think. So he just...ran over to the wolf. Threw his arms around his neck. Burrowed his face wherever he could.

 

And cried.

 

“Don't tell Scott.” he pleaded. “ ** _Please_** don't tell Scott.”

 

There was silence between them. With the exception of Stiles' hitched sobs. Nothing. Not even a hug. Derek stood like a statue.

 

It wasn't until Stiles started to pull away that Derek clung to him for dear life. Placed his face into the raven's hair. Inhaling his scent. Breathing sighs of great relief. Rocked them both side to side. It was a little weird but...he wasn't going to complain about Derek giving him affection.

 

“I won't say anything. I will _never_ say anything.”

 

The oath made his knees weaken. He tightened his hold on Derek, sniffling and shaking. “Thank you...”

 

“I hear him coming. You'll want to shift back.”

 

Stiles swore, tearing himself away from the wolf. He repeated the process he did in the locker, hoping it would be done before Scott arrived. When he felt at least his teeth and fingers feel normal, he opened his eyes to look at Derek. Who had shifted back to more human features while his eyes were closed.

 

“How do I look?”

 

Derek chuckled, a faint smile graving his face. “Like you.”

 

He felt his shoulder sag with triumph. For more than one reason. He mouthed a 'thank you' just as he heard someone barge into the locker room.

 

“Stiles!”

 

He whipped around, already starting to get teary again. He bounded across the room, wasting no time in wrapping his best friend in as tight of a hug as he could muster. Scott did the same, nose buried into his shoulder.

 

“It's so good to see you, buddy! So good!”

 

Scott didn't reply, utterly consumed by emotion. Stiles rubbed his back, shushing him and rocking them both. He did this until Liam came crashing in, his mouth running a million miles per minute and making no sense.

 

“Liam! Oh my god, man...” Stiles parted from Scott, dragging Liam into an embrace. “Good to see you, too!”

 

“Um...g-good to see you, Stiles.” Liam squeaked in surprise.

 

All right. Reunions done. Time to get to work.

 

“Okay, so I have some semblance of a plan, but I'm still in the dark about a lot of things. So while I spew out some fancy shit, bump in and clue me in if it would work. Now, when the girls get here, we need to see what else the translated pages say. 'Cause I dunno about you, but the whole train tracks popping up out of nowhere doesn't sound normal.”

 

“It isn't.” confirmed Derek.

 

“Okay. Good. That's good to know. Hopefully those pages can tell us how to fix that. And since I didn't see any of our friends out there with the rest of the zombies, I'm wondering if the barrier that separated us from wherever they send their victims is still open.”

 

“Merging! They are – they are merging. I think.” piped up Liam, panting a little. “I mean...unless the school suddenly decided to change the interior.”

 

“Change it to what?” asked Scott with furrowed brows.

 

“Like a train station waiting area. I mean...there are benches, there are ticket windows, there are signs with all these places listed on them -”

 

Stiles groaned, running hands down his face. “Fuck. That's where they had me.”

 

“So it is changing? Merging?” Scott repeated.

 

“That's what it sounds like.”

 

“That's not normal.” Derek mused darkly. “Nothing I've been told or have been able to read in my family's tome said anything about merging.”

 

“It could be because there is a Banshee, a raven, and a hellhound here. Changes all the rules.” Liam noted.

 

“Yeah, well, they need to abide by _our_ rules.” said Stiles with stubborn fire. “We need those pages translated. There has to be something in them that can tell us how to not only sever the connection here, but stop the merging. God only knows what will happen if the merging finishes. Until then, Liam, you take us to where you saw the train station sitting area. If we move over there, that might make The Hunt flock to us. Which, if we play our cards right, we can fight back and take their weapons.”

 

“Why do we need their weapons?”

 

“It defeats them.” Derek answered. “Turns them into dust. We saw it firsthand before you got here.” His eyes turned to Stiles, communicating something in silence. “Stiles and I will get the weapons. We both know how to use the guns, at least.”

 

Stiles gave him a thumbs up, always happy when Derek backed him up on anything. “Perfect! Which means Scott, Liam – you two distract them. It's not going to get rid of all of them, but it will help us stall till we can actually kick them out of our town. We'll also have to figure out how to get our friends out of their world. If my theory is correct, they are probably trying to get Corey out of the pickle he is in. Before you ask, a whole bunch of them shoved him into the radio room, and disguised his voice to sound like the robot lady. Something about him screamed a threat to them, but I don't know what.”

 

A sigh came from Liam. A knowing one. “Invisibility. His...his invisibility made it so we could see them without them knowing. And, um, well...something happened and he...sort of made one of them visible to everyone.”

 

“Ah. That would do it.”

 

“Okay...so...stall till the pages are translated, distract and get their weapons, what about the people that are here now?” said Scott, tallying the bits of the plan off.

 

“Try to wake them up. We can do that before The Hunt gets there.”

 

“What about the raven?”

 

That tripped him up. He knew they all heard his heart stutter and speed up. But he was still going to lie. He couldn't have anyone know. Derek was perfectly fine, but...he was human. He had to be _human_.

 

“Uhhhh...what about him?”

 

“Shouldn't we try to include him in this? He is what they're wanting to kill.”

 

“No. No no...that won't...that won't be necessary.”

 

“What do you mean?! Stiles...we have to include the raven!”

 

“No we don't! Look...I know who it is, all right? And he begged to not have his identity revealed. I'm respecting his wishes. We leave him out of this.”

 

“But -”

 

“Drop it, Scott.” hissed Derek, flashing his eyes for extra measure. (How it would work, who knows. He wasn't an alpha any more.)

 

Scott started to argue, but was stopped in his tracks by his own beta.

 

“We leave the raven out of this. Got it! We should probably head back to where the school is becoming the train station. Start the plan.”

 

Thank god for Liam. Stiles patted his back, smiling and giving him a thumbs up. The beta preened at the wordless praise. Loudly. With his face. It made Scott pout and scowl just a little at them all.

 

With a nudge out the door from Derek, Liam lead the way to where he saw the school turning. He broke into a run, understanding the urgency needed for the task. The rest of them followed suite, with Stiles falling behind. He could easily keep up with them. Incredibly easily. But he was taking precautions. If he started to run to a point where he was keeping up perfectly...

 

He hoped to whatever higher being out there that a raven wasn't needed to disband The Hunt...

 

**~+~**

 


	10. Chapter 10

All right...Liam wasn't kidding about the school becoming the train station.

 

It was eerie to see the exact same place Stiles had escaped from inside his school. The transformation wasn't done. Not by a long shot. There was a huge chunk that was blotchy – stuck between the brightly lit train station and the darkened school. The seats, that reminded Stiles of pews, were full to the brim with people. All dead in the eyes. Like no one was home. Like they were...scarily, realistic dolls.

 

“How do we wake them up?” inquired Scott in a hushed tone.

 

Stiles heaved a sigh, hands on his hips. “I have absolutely no idea.”

 

“Maybe they need something specific.” Derek suggested. “Like...Peter needs Malia.”

 

He pointed to where he saw his uncle, answering any questions the other three had. It made sense. Peter tended to ignore everybody unless it had some form of benefit for him. Malia was the exception. Stiles knew that from their interactions in the station. Any time Malia was mentioned, this new side emerged.

 

Leave Peter for Malia.

 

That just meant figuring out how to wake the rest of the statue brood.

 

Maybe he hadn't thought this out thoroughly...

 

The doors of the school flew open, Malia and Lydia bursting from them. Their quick feet slowed as they realized that the building had a makeover. An unwanted one.

 

“What the hell?” Malia said in confusion.

 

Like with the others, Stiles made leaps and bounds to get over to them. He brought them both into a warm hug together, expressing how happy he was to see them. Lydia was the more affectionate out of the girls, clinging to him for dear life. Malia patted his back, still too preoccupied with how the school looked now.

 

Stiles pulled back, pointing at the pages in Lydia's hands. “How much more did you translate?”

 

“Not enough. But I learned something new, if that counts as good news.”

 

“What does it say?”

 

“Um, well...it says that we need the Banshee to send them back and cut them off from doing anything for a millennium. We also need a few people on the other side to mess it up before crossing back over here. And it explained that this whole thing right here, the merging, at least I think this is what's going on here, is because the raven escaped and not only are they pissed off about that, but they are _beyond_ pissed. They're planning on wiping Beacon Hills completely off the map. And not just taking everyone and leaving me behind, but turning this place into a crater _and_ leaving me behind.”

 

“Oh. That sounds...nice.” He groaned, turning to the others that were walking up to them. “That changes a few things.”

 

“Not really.” Liam shrugged. “We can still stall. Just...now we stall for our friends on the other side.”

 

“He has a point.” Scott agreed.

 

“We need to protect the raven, too.” Lydia added. “They have to be far _far_ away from here. Probably. It would be best to keep them away from all this. Don't want them captured again.”

 

“Not to worry. He is pretty far.”

 

The lie hurt Stiles to tell. But he wasn't letting go of his title as human. Not unless forced.

 

“What about Parrish?” butted in Derek seriously. “How do we get him back?”

 

Wait...what?

 

“What do you mean 'get him back'?”

 

When no one answered him _and_  avoided his gaze, Stiles knew what happened.

 

“You let them take him? Are you guys serious?! Hellhounds are a _huge_ part of the Wild Hunt! Sometimes they lead it! You know, like a hound dog! Ugh! Does no one read the fine print?”

 

“I still haven't translated that piece...” admitted Lydia, completely ignoring Stiles' outburst.

 

Derek nodded, clenching his jaw. “Get it translated. Liam, you stick with her. The rest of us will try to wake these people up. When The Hunt gets here, Scott, you take Malia and distract them while Stiles and I get their weapons. The plan doesn't change. Not much.”

 

Oh, how naive that statement was.

 

Because just after he said that, there was a dramatic gasp that took over the entire room.

 

The wolves and coyote went into defense mode – shifting into their beta forms and snarling. Lydia stood beside Stiles, an arm held out in front of him as a form of protection. Everyone stood tense, eyes wandering to find who made that gasp. It was...eerily silent. Only the victims of The Hunt and those still left standing in sight.

 

So who gasped?

 

Out of nowhere, something curled around Stiles' throat. He let out a quick cry of shock and fear, reaching up to feel what it was. Just as quick as it came, it yanked. He was flown onto his back, being dragged across the floor and down the hall. Couldn't even call out to Derek and Scott, who were leading the wild chase after him. Air was being loosely cut from him. For the duration of the entire drag, the world blurring by him...he was certain this was it. That he was going to die.

 

Then...it stopped. Stiles let out a wrecked, struggling sob. He rolled onto his knees, trying to breathe and control his shaking. He couldn't even begin to process what the hell had occurred when...

 

His feet left the floor. Someone was holding him by the throat. Once again, he was fighting to have oxygen. Why was this happening? Where the hell was everyone?!

 

“You just had to make them remember, didn't you?”

 

That voice...no. No way. That...that wasn't possible. It...it just wasn't!

 

Pushing his panic aside, letting himself pay attention to something other than his lack of air. To his horror, absolute horror, the person attempting to choke the life out of him was...his _mother_. But how was that possible? She was dead! She had been dead for years! How was she here, smelling like that weird perfume she loved so much and wearing her favorite purple dress? Just...how?!

 

“You're...not r-real...” he choked out, going for her fingers the best he could. “You're...you're n-not her...”

 

This... _thing_ that wore his mother's face glowered venomously. “You're right. I'm not. Very astute.”

 

He glared back, not willing to die at the hands of an impostor. Not when he could hear the roars of the wolves and coyote closing in. “Why...?”

 

“Why what? Why am I being your mother? Simple: so your father wouldn't miss you. And he didn't. Not for a single second. He forgot all about you. He didn't need you. _No one_ did. Until that girl kept screeching that you were real. That you were taken. No one believed her, though. They all ignored her. Thought she was crazy. And then that wolf showed up. What was his name? Derek? He came in, remembering you more than even that girl had. That's when everything was ruined. He remembered. And you...you had to go and use that radio to prove that he and the girl were right. _You_ ruined it. He ruined it, too. And once you're dead...I'll make sure to make sure that he knows that he couldn't save you. That it was all _his_ fault.”

 

“Stiles!”

 

Derek's voice, accompanied by Scott and Lydia's voice, rattled his core. He went to look behind the best he could, to convey that he needed some help. That's when he noticed exactly why his feet were off the floor. It was because he was literally _nowhere_ near the floor. This thing had them in _mid air_. Almost to the ceiling of what could only be the gym, judging by the damned school logo on the floor.

 

This thing was going to drop him.

 

Make him go splat.

 

In front of his friends.

 

Oh god. Oh _fuck_! He was going to die! He was going to die, and there was nothing anyone could do! Unless they did some massive acrobatics, which he was certain this thing wouldn't allow. Or he...

 

Or he revealed his secret.

 

Goddammit.

 

God _dammit_!

 

“You're all here. Good.” his farce mother sniffed snootily. “I was wondering when you'd catch up.”

 

“How about you come down here instead of hold our friend up in the air!” spat Malia, taking a step towards them. “Face us! Quit holding him hostage!”

 

“Malia...don't...” warned Scott, big browns rounded in terror.

 

His fake mother contemplated the idea. For a brief moment, it appeared as if she would do it. As if she would come down and face the pack. Her hold on his throat even slacked off. It was all looking up.

 

It was all short lived.

 

He watched her lips curve into an inhuman, wicked grin. Stretched ear to ear. Literally. He was sure that he was the only one that saw, because no one else was making a comment about it. Her eyes began to change as well. Swallowed up by darkness. Her forehead touched his, which was enough to send his heart skyrocketing. What was she doing? What was she going to do? He was dead. He was dead dead dead _**dead**_...

 

Suddenly, without warning, she chucked him across the gym.

 

He was heading straight for the wall above the bleachers. He was going to crash into it. Break his back, possibly. Then he would drop behind the bleachers, breaking more bones on the way down or on impact. He could easily die with how fast he was going.

 

Even if it felt like it was in slow motion.

 

He heard someone scream his name. Multiple someones. Didn't know who. All he knew was that if he didn't think fast...he was either going to be maimed or dead. Neither sounded ideal. And that would mean...

 

He curled into himself, diving deep into the part of him he tried to hide for so long. So long, in fact, that he had almost forgotten about it. Except for the few times when it would itch and claw beneath his skin – begging to be unleashed. Except for when he allowed it to seep out without anyone noticing. Except for when he was curious as to what he looked like shifted. Except for when he was reading the tomes in Deaton's office in secret, attempting to learn about his kind.

 

Except for now.

 

_I'm sorry guys. I lied..._

 

A billow of pitch black feathers engulfed him like a shield right before he collided with the wall. The feathers took the brunt of it, protecting his body. They stayed with him as he plummeted behind the bleachers. But not when he fell onto the hard gym floor. Which was why he heard a sickening crack when he landed.

 

The intense pain that followed sent a jolt through his body. He unleashed a high pitch scream – border-lining on his usual one and avian. He laid onto his side, lifting his head enough to see what had broken. Which turned out to be difficult with clothes and the tight space. He would have to suck it up for now. Hopefully his healing would kick in soon. _Please_ let it kick in soon. Biting his tongue, Stiles began to army crawl the best he could to the other side. He didn't want to stick around in this cramped space for too long. Not when he could hear some form of ruckus on the other side of the bleachers.

 

And then...this...godawful shrieking sound caused the gym to quake.

 

Followed by this skittering right behind him.

 

“Oh fuck...oh fuck...” he whimpered, glancing over his shoulder.

 

Fake mama was there. Only she had stopped wearing the late Claudia Stilinski's face. Instead, she was showing her true face: rotting, corpse-like. Stitches were hanging around her dried lips like limp and slimy noodles, allowing her to release that shriek again. If that wasn't enough to scare Stiles shitless...she was booking it towards him with no issue. Her body making pops and snaps as she moved.

 

Stiles screamed bloody murder, fighting to move as quickly as possible. He was sobbing out of sheer terror, feeling her practically breathing on top of him. He was certain that he called out for his dad, for Derek, for Scott, for _anyone_ to save him. He felt helpless. Utterly helpless. What could he do in this tight space? What could he do when he was panicking? What could he do with some part of his leg mending itself together at an agonizingly slow pace?

 

He wasn't human...and he still was powerless...useless...

 

An all too familiar scream suddenly rang to his side. He covered his ears and closed his eyes, gritting his teeth tight and whining in his throat. From behind him, he could feel the bleachers blow inward, taking out the thing that had worn his mother's face. He could hear the rumbling of the bleachers falling, nearly crushing him. Then, out of nowhere, he felt himself hoisted out of the space. Right into Derek's arms.

 

And that was when he could feel the pain _tenfold_.

 

He cried out and writhed, nearly causing Derek to drop him. The pack surrounded him, bombarding him with questions that he didn't fully process. He just kept clawing at his right leg, sobbing and screaming in agony.

 

“Is it not healing?!” Derek barked in worry, pulling up the pant leg.

 

Stiles heard gasps and felt Derek's hand clasping over his tear stained eyes.

 

“I'm going to trigger the healing. Just bear with me, okay?”

 

He mewled, nails now digging into Derek's arm. “Make it stop. Make it stop.”

 

“I will, I promise. You have to trust me.”

 

“Please...please please please...”

 

“What are you doing?!” asked Scott in a high pitched voice. “That's not going to -”

 

The pop of Derek readjusting the bone back to its proper place engulfed the entire room. Silenced everyone. Except for Stiles. Who hollered so loud that he could hear the echo from down the hall. He arched upward, nails digging deeper into Derek's arm. Could feel warm liquid under them, meaning he had punctured the skin. He was going to have to make it up to the wolf later. You know...once all this bullshit of hell was over. He could feel the pain slowly drip off of him. It felt amazing. Intoxicating. Oh...Derek was draining his pain while he still healed. _Definitely_ would have to make it up to Derek. Big time.

 

Stiles tugged at Derek's hand that was over his eyes, moving it away so he could see everything again. Sure enough, black veins and Derek fighting the urge to shudder at the sting were visible. There was some blood near his foot, likely from the wound that he could feel starting to mend better than before. The pack was all around them, gaping at what they had just witnessed. Liam the one looking more stunned than the rest.

 

Guess since the cat was out of the bag...

 

“I'm not human.” he croaked, shivering from both the healing and the slight high Derek's pain sucking gave. He did one jazz hand, not in the mood for using both. “Surprise.”

 

No one said anything. Just continued to stare. Like they didn't know how to react. Didn't know what to say. As if this big reveal was too much for them to handle. They had dealt with a kanima, Berserkers, Kate coming back from the dead, a nogitsune, chimeras, Mason turning into a white guy who was hundreds of years old...and _this_ was what rendered them speechless?

 

Glad to see that their priorities were still in check.

 

“Did...they turn you?” Malia finally said, confused and not certain of her question.

 

Stiles snorted. “No. I've always been like this. I've always been _something_. I didn't realize it until the nogitsune. It...it knew. It figured out what I was...used it a little to heighten not only its strength, but other things, too. Like the trickster ability. Guess two tricksters was a cocktail it got drunk on.”

 

He shuffled around in Derek's hold, trying to get cozy as he healed. He was also scowling. Hard. “I never said anything because I knew you'd make that fucking face, Scott.”

 

Scott flinched, his look of disgust and anger from not knowing this about his best friend turning into sadness and guilt. Finally, he understood. Got why Stiles never said anything. Because if he had...Scott would give him _that_ face. The same face he used to give Derek whenever the wolf tried to help after he was bitten.

 

For some reason, despite knowing this would be Scott's reaction, Stiles was _pissed_.

 

“You're the raven.” Lydia concluded breathlessly, eyes watery and expression full of concern.

 

That broke Stiles' frustration towards Scott. He allowed his eyes to fall upon her, and he nodded with a sigh. “Yep. Surprise again.”

 

“Does that mean we have to change our plan?” questioned Liam. “Do we have to do something else because The Hunt is going to come after you?”

 

“No. Plan stays the same. Unless the others arrive before we get back to where the school is starting to turn into the train station – the plan stays the same. Well...except for the fact that Derek here will have to carry me till this damn leg heals.”

 

Derek shrugged, already hopping to his feet with Stiles in his arms. Bridal style.

 

“Awwww!” Stiles cooed, wrapping his arms playfully around Derek's neck. “How romantic!”

 

“I will drop you.” growled Derek, cheeks tinting.

 

“Then who will carry me?”

 

“I can.” offered Malia. “Unless you want Scott to. But I think he's still a little shaken by the whole ' Stiles isn't a human' thing. To be honest, it isn't that much of a surprise. I thought you were something or another for a long time.”

 

“Then you're a lot more observant than we give you credit for.” Lydia hummed, a smile breaking through.

 

“Well, there was that one time in the hospital where the door locked and only unlocked and opened after we had finished discussing something. Honestly can't remember what it was.”

 

Stiles held back a sigh of relief. Mostly because he wasn't fond of that particular conversation. Or locking Malia in the room until she listened to him. It might have been for a good reason, but it was definitely creepy sounding now that he thought about it.

 

“If we are done here...” Derek huffed, readjusting Stiles. “We need to head back. We also need to figure out the new plan. I hear the others. And they just found the school-train station.”

 

**~+~**

 


	11. Chapter 11

When they reunited with the others, they all flocked around Stiles. Both out of excitement _and_ out of mother hen concern. Which, okay, understandable. He was still healing and still being carried by Derek bridal style. It was expected. But lord was it _suffocating_.

 

“Would you all calm down?!” he pouted, clinging more to Derek. “I'll heal. Like, soon. Calm thy tits and let's discuss a game plan, since Grumpy Wolf over here says that we have to do a whole new one. Well, not a whole new one, but still a new one of some sort.”

 

Derek sighed, rolling his eyes. In an endearing way, of course.

 

“Okay! So...here is what we need to do: if any of you know how to use a weapon, mostly a gun, get it and use it against a Rider. It makes them go poof. You'll have to keep getting a new weapon, but trust me, it will be worth it. Maybe Melissa, Mason, and Corey, since you are not looking so hot Corey, my man, can try to wake these people up? Get them out of here. Maybe also toss over any fallen weapons? Scott, Liam, Malia - definitely just kick these guys' asses and make it easier for the rest of us to get weapons. Derek – until I heal, you're stuck with me, buddy. Lydia – ”

 

“Wait wait wait! Hold up!” his dad interrupted, skepticism all over his face. “You keep mentioning this heal thing. Stiles...you busted up your leg, or ankle, or foot, or whatever the hell you busted, pretty good if Derek has to carry you. You're not going to heal today. You'll have to sit in the hospital for some time. Rest at home.”

 

Melissa nodded, biting at her lip. “Yeah. You're not going to heal today, Stiles. And without knowing how bad it is...it's hard to tell how long it will take for it to heal.”

 

There was an awkward, hushed silence between the half of the pack that knew, and the other half that had no idea. _'Who is going to tell them?'_ hung in the air. Not even _Malia_ spoke up. She was glancing at the others, likely hoping that one of them would say something instead.

 

Argent was the one that pieced it together.

 

“Stiles...is there something you want to tell us?”

 

Stiles flinched, causing Derek to tense. He worked at his lip and thought about it. He could just say it. Tell them that he wasn't as human as they all thought. But...maybe it would be easier to show...

 

“Don't scream, okay? And...and don't be scared. I'm still me...” he said in a mousy voice.

 

He knew they had questions. He knew they got close to asking. However, they said nothing as he allowed himself to shift, those pin pricks of discomfort flooding him again. And that nice little touch of nausea. Hopefully, if he kept shifting after today, that would go away. He did not want to vomit. It would kill all of the intimidation his appearance had.

 

When he was done, everyone but Derek gawked. Not in fear, thank god. Some were in awe. Some were bewildered. Some were a mixture of emotions.

 

And then there was Liam.

 

“I expected feathers...”

 

“Oh, what, are the talons not enough for you?!” huffed Stiles teasingly. “Sheesh. Now I dunno if I can actually do a full shift like the Hales over here. I've been pretending to be human since I figured out what I was. I'm pretty far behind on all things bird related about myself.”

 

“You're a raven.” Argent mused. “And here I thought that the raven wouldn't be someone we knew personally.”

 

“This is all going over my head...” the sheriff muttered.

 

“We'll fill you in after all this.” Kira offered.

 

Mason didn't seem to have too much patience. “The Hunt sometimes thinks a Banshee is either a friend or foe. It has to do with this Celtic mythological being called The Morrigan. She was kind of over death, and in some writings she was a Banshee or she would lead The Hunt. She was also sometimes seen as a raven.”

 

“Ravens are mostly female.” Argent supplied, before Mason kept going. “The males are rare. When they exist, they are guardians of The Morrigan or the Banshee in a way. Fiercely loyal. Perfect mimics. You'd never see them coming.”

 

“R-right! And the hellhound has always been considered a creature that led The Hunt into, well, a hunt. So they have an upper hand with having Parrish in their control. But _we_ have an advantage, too.” Mason pointed at Stiles, eyes rounded in excitement. The word 'intense' was for sure on the tip of his tongue. “We have a raven. _And_ a Banshee.”

 

“But they know about Stiles.” Scott pointed out. “How does that give us an advantage?”

 

“They may think he can't fight back, because I'm sure he didn't just trip and fall on air to get hurt enough to need to be carried.” Hayden supplied. “He looks wounded. He looks weak. That may make them overconfident.”

 

“But we don't know how to knock them down.” added Corey, voice strained. “We can't just keep shooting. We'll get tired. They _don't_ get tired.”

 

There was a frustrated noise from Lydia, making all eyes fall on her. She waved the pages she had in her hands, as if it was an annoyance to explain these to anyone that hadn't known about them.

 

“From what I've translated, I can send them back. Make sure that they can't do practically anything, at least to Beacon Hills, for a long, long time. I'm just missing the last few pieces.”

 

“Actually...I think I remember something.” said Argent in his never-ending calm. “I'm not one hundred percent sure, but since we have Stiles here and don't have to actually convince a raven to help, the version I've heard in the past should work. What we need is a Banshee's wail, a hellhound's fire, and a raven's feather. You'll have to direct all of that at just one member of The Hunt. It will send all of them back. Or it _should_ send them all back.”

 

Thank god for Argent. He just made everything a _million_ times easier.

 

“Then we need to get Parrish back onto our side in order to do this. That will be the main focus. Which is all on you, Lydia. If anyone can get to him...it's you. The rest of you – do the same thing as before. But we need to give Lydia cover, too. We can't leave her out in the open. So Malia, Liam – cover her. Cover her with your life. If she goes down...we are blue, screwed, and tattooed.” ordered Stiles sternly. “Derek and I will go grab some of the feathers I used to cushion the blow of my forced flight. That's our one thing we need.”

 

That was when Derek so happened to pull a feather right off the bottom of Stiles' shoe. Was an impressive looking thing. Huge, too.

 

“Okay. Nevermind. We are set. Just need Parrish. And to get these people out of here. Melissa, Mason, Corey – if you can't wake them up, drag them out. Or throw them to the floor. Just get them out of the way. No collateral damage. The rest of us are still doing the same thing as before. Any questions? Or are we all ready for when they start barging in 'cause they realized that shit's going south for them?”

 

Right on cue – the doors burst open, a gust of wind howling and leaves skittering followed. The people on the bench-pews woke up, screaming in terror and scattering like roaches towards the darker hall ahead, where the school was still the same. Just like back in the train station. Stiles tensed, gripping tightly onto Derek.

 

“They're here...” Corey breathed, body visibly trembling.

 

Instantly, before any of The Hunt even entered, the wolves and coyote were in beta shift – roaring and snarling. Argent and the sheriff had their guns at the ready – aim steady and true. Melissa, Mason, and Corey dove for cover – flipping over the bench-pews but ready to pop up from behind them to give back-up of some sort. Lydia and Kira poised themselves – ready to go down fighting. Stiles clung to Derek, tugging at him to move so that they wouldn't get caught in the cross-hairs while he was still healing.

 

Despite the warning, despite the calling card of these Riders about to enter...there was nothing.

 

Nevertheless, everyone stood their ground. Waiting.

 

“Derek...” Stiles whispered urgently. “You need to get me out of firing range. I'm still not -”

 

He was in the air. Not for too long, though. When he landed on his back, the wind and shift was knocked right out of him. He groaned, lying there breathless, confused, sore, and with ears ringing. He had no idea what was going on for a while – trapped in the stinging aches and rings. He blinked a few times, clearing the bleariness of his vision, and finally rolled over to survey what the hell was going on.

 

It was utter _chaos_.

 

Argent and his dad were shooting up the room, fighting to somehow get the weapons of The Hunt. Melissa, Mason, and a wheezing Corey were frantically swiping at the floor for cover or strays of fallen weapons. Hayden was doing her best to be cover for the two humans and wounded chimera. Scott was bouncing all over the place between the trio on the ground and the duo firing. Liam had been dragged away from Lydia – trapped in a stand off of fists. The same went for Malia. Thank god for Kira, who was keeping close to Lydia and holding her own with ease. Lydia was locked in a serious hand-to-hand combat with a fiery Parrish, trying to knock some sense into him as well as not get burned.

 

And Derek?

 

He was stubbornly beating the shit out of any Rider that dared get too close to Stiles. Snarls and all.

 

At least _some_ of his plan was working. Better than it all going to shit.

 

Stiles gasped for air at last, eyes watery from how overwhelmed he suddenly felt from the sensation. He fought to sit up, not wanting to be out of this battle for too long. The only thing was that he was so used to standing by and watching, or hopping in impulsively with a baseball bat, that he had no idea if anyone would remember that he was one of them. That he wasn't fragile skin and bones.

 

(Not like his injury was helping with that image, but that was a different issue.)

 

Then, out of nowhere, a Rider knocked him right back down to the floor, smacking him across the face with the pistol. Stiles yelped, body jerking as upward as he could with a mass on top of him. For a third time today, hands wrapped around his throat, attempting to squeeze the life out of him.

 

“Wh-what is with...you guys...trying...trying to suffo...suffocate m-me?” he managed with a hiss, his talons popping back out to dig into the hands around him.

 

The Rider let out that odd wail Stiles heard back in the locker room, making sure it was done right against his ear. Like his ears hadn't been ringing already! He grimaced, moving one of his hands into the face of the Rider and struggled to claw at it. No one was going to save him this time. He was on his own. And that was okay. Gave him the chance to prove himself. Show that yes, he was not as defenseless as previously thought.

 

Except that it was a bit hard to focus when he was being choked out.

 

In the struggle, he nearly tore off the entire dead flesh on the Rider. Fortunately, it startled the Rider enough to remove its hands and frantically cover its face. With the opening, Stiles bolted upright, releasing his avian scream. The Rider shrieked back, shielding what would be its ears. Stiles kept screaming – using it to his advantage. He swiped the pistol from where it was discarded in order to choke him, and shot the Rider square in the forehead.

 

The shot echoed in his ears as the Rider and the pistol faded into oblivion. He sat there, shaking and swallowing repeatedly. He had seen almost a full face of a Rider. Not the small bit he had seen in the locker room. An almost _full_ face. The reality of it didn't hit him until just now. The fact that he had seen a person, someone who had been taken and then forced to become part of The Hunt...it made him feel ill. It was too much. For a moment...he felt so guilty that, again, he had caused the death of someone.

 

_Self-defense. It was self-defense. They were trying to kill me. They want me dead. It was self-defense. It was self-defense. I was protecting myself. It was self-defense._

 

“Shit!”

 

Stiles snapped to – head jerking towards the outburst. The sheriff had been knocked over, losing his gun in the process. He was currently rolling back and forth to dodge the boot of the Rider he was battling, swearing profusely with each roll. It was odd not to see the Rider just shooting or using the whip, until Stiles noticed that the Rider was vacant of both. Hence the attempt to stomp on his dad's chest or face. Either way...it pissed Stiles off. To the point where he felt every last fighting instinct in his body, every inch of need to peck the eyes out (even though he knew Riders were sans eyes), every bubble of darkness burst.

 

No one tried to beat on his dad and got away with it.

 

 _No one_.

 

A monstrous screech tore through his throat, freezing the chaos for one short moment. He literally flew to his feet, finding himself soaring through the air. Like a bird of prey. He landed right on top of the Rider - one set of talons buried deep into a shoulder to balance himself, the other shredding at whatever bit he could get a hold of. He was screeching and grunting during the entire attack, making sure that this jackass knew who it was dealing with. He was going to make sure that there was ** _nothing left_**.

 

“Stiles! Stop!”

 

Two sets of arms wrapped around his waist – yanking him off of his prey. He shrieked in protest, wanting to finish the job. He thrashed and reached out for the Rider, his nifty little telepathy ability pulling it towards him. Until it vanished in a breeze of dust. That's when Stiles stopped, gaping at the vacant space and sitting limp in the holds of whoever had him. Holy hell...what had happened?

 

“I know you're protective of me...but that was a little scary, kiddo.” his father teased in his left ear.

 

“Guess you need some control training.” Derek sighed with fond aggravation in his right ear. “And here I thought that you would have perfect control, Yoda.”

 

Stiles took a moment to chuckle at the Star Wars joke. Of course Derek had seen Star Wars. He already knew that. But it was still nice to be reminded of that fact. That Derek hadn't always been an individual draped in sorrow and used as a punching bag.

 

Maybe he would take the wolf on a happy nostalgia trip to make it up to him.

 

(Even if Derek would be the one to mostly pay for it.)

 

“Get down!” barked Argent, stance that of a gunslinger.

 

The sheriff, Derek, and Stiles dropped to their knees, bowing their heads as multiple shots were fired. Judging by the amount of dust dancing around them...a whole ton of Riders just met their ends. Which, yay. That was less members of The Hunt to deal with. But Argent was panting. He had a strip of sweat sliding down his forehead into his eyes. He was tiring. Stiles glanced over at his father, noticing the heavy breaths and weariness screwed onto his face. He then glanced over at Derek, noticing the wolf was a little red from exertion and his nostrils were flared from rough inhales and exhales. If these three were tired...he couldn't imagine how worn down everyone else was getting.

 

It would be only a matter of time before there was no fight left...

 

“Lydia!” Stiles called, still focused on the three men around him. “Tell me you have made some progress!”

 

When he got no reply, he pushed himself up and over Derek's and his father's shoulders to steal a peek. Unfortunately...it was not what he wanted to see. Kira was dueling with Parrish, grunting fiercely and finding it difficult to move with her usual fluid strikes. Lydia was on her knees, holding the side of her head as if she was wounded, and appeared to be on the brink of unconsciousness.

 

Shit.

 

“Okay...okay, dad, you continue what you're doing. 'Cause you're doing an awesome job. Derek...I need you to cover me. I'm gonna help Kira and Lydia. They aren't looking so hot.”

 

Neither man got to voice their opinion before Stiles launched himself to his feet and made a dangerous b-line towards Parrish. He screeched loudly, turning Parrish's attention to it. It gave Kira the opportunity to slash at his arm right before Stiles tackled him. Which, in hindsight, was a _terrible_ idea. Fire and all that. He screamed, shaking the room with the high pitch, avian sound, and flung himself off of the hellhound.

 

“Stiles?! Are you okay?!” cried Kira, terror spread across her features.

 

“I'm okay!” he replied, patting out the (surprisingly) small flames. “What's been shaken, bacon?”

 

The kitsune bit at her lip, fighting back a laugh. “Lydia's hurt. Parrish slashed at her. I think she's bleeding.”

 

“That's not good. We _need_ her. Der -”

 

He looked over his shoulder, stopped short of asking Derek to drain Lydia's pain. It was as if the guy had read his mind, because he was already at Lydia's side, helping her stand and draining away any pain she felt. She was regaining color rapidly, and she no longer appeared ready to pass out. She breathed out a sigh of gratitude and gripped at Derek's hand.

 

“It's no use. He isn't listening to me.” she grumbled.

 

Crap. That certainly threw a wrench in the plan.

 

“We may have to force him to cooperate...” she added, definitely not happy about it.

 

No one else was too happy about the idea, either. Especially Derek. Probably didn't know that he was making an expression that showed the trauma of every non consensual moment that had happened to him in his life. Seeing that was what made up Stiles' mind.

 

“We're not forcing anyone to do _anything_.” Stiles snapped defensively, feeling his eyes burn.

 

“We could make a ball of fire from the fire coming off of him.” Kira provided warily, staring at the now stirring hellhound. “That way we don't make him do anything. We're just borrowing his fire.”

 

Huh...that was...a really good idea. But it would take some convincing to get Parrish to willingly give up some of his fire. Especially with that gnarled glare he was currently giving Stiles as he rose to his feet.

 

“H-hey, Parrish!” Stiles squeaked. “Buddy...pal...my good man...can we possibly borrow some of that fire of yours? We need it for a little project.”

 

The roar and gnashing of teeth sounded like a resounding 'hell no'. So did the pile drive tackle he performed on Stiles. Again, the wind was knocked out of the raven as he hit the floor. However, he recovered quicker than last time. Pfft. As if he actually had the luxury to recover. Parrish was on him in a matter of seconds, attempting to slash him up. Ignoring any self-preservation, Stiles took his wrists in his hands, feeling the intense flames burning his skin, and sat up enough to meet the deputy's face. He screamed in his face, rivaling even one of Lydia's mighty wails. In return, Parrish roared back, but it had lost its boom. Like he was shaken from seeing the person before him not so human as originally thought.

 

Without warning, Parrish was torn away, hoisted high by the arm. Derek released a deep, guttural growl, eyes glowing a brilliant blue and teeth dripping with saliva. Again, Parrish roared back, but it was weak. Terrified. Stiles took the opportunity to spring to his feet and scoop up (yes, he scooped it up) a handful of green flame.

 

It hurt like a bitch.

 

His healing was already slow in the first place from all the years of hiding the raven side of him. This was _not_ helping. He was never doing anything this stupid in his life _again_. Other stupid decisions he may commit in the future didn't count.

 

“Where's my feather?!”

 

“My pocket.” Derek answered. “Left front one.”

 

Kira reached out, waiting until Derek nodded at her before she pulled the feather out of said pocket. She held it as far away from her as possible, looking between the raven and Banshee for what to do next. Lydia, who was a little unsteady on her feet but much better after Derek had took some of her pain away, used Kira's shoulder for balance.

 

“Give me the feather. I've blown half of a man's head off with my scream. I'm not going to do that to your hand.”

 

“Th-thanks. I like my hands. Scott says they're cute.”

 

“He's not wrong.” Stiles butted in. “Now...can we pick a Rider before I have entire skin and muscle to regrow? If I can even do that.”

 

Lydia scowled at him, eyes rolling shortly after. She pointed at a Rider sneaking up on Melissa – her firm nod confirming that this was the target. Stiles nodded back, getting a little closer with the ball of green fire. When she inhaled, he tossed the ball up, hoping that she would scream in time before it either hit the floor or it disappeared.

 

Thank god she did.

 

He hadn't seen much of Lydia using her scream like this. Like a super power right out of a comic book. She had tried hard to distance herself from it since Eichen – the memory of what happened to her there still an open wound. But now, seeing it visibly move with her hands, going forward in a wave of sound, the feather and flames dancing within it as if wrapped in a tornado, was nothing short of amazing.

 

The three elements slammed right into the Rider's chest, sending it toppling backwards. Time slowed at that moment. The pack frozen and staring with wide eyes. The Wild Hunt with heads turned to their fallen comrade.

 

It was a waiting game now. An uneasy waiting game. They waited and waited and waited. Nothing. Absolutely nothing. No Hunt members vanishing. No bright lights. Nothing at all. Just... _nothing_.

 

There was a yelp from behind Stiles, and he whipped around to see what was going on. Parrish was convulsing, startling both Derek and Kira. They gaped in horror, but were working as quickly as they could, lying the hellhound down on his side. Lydia slid onto her knees, border line failing at keeping calm as she said his name over and over. His fiery glory was fading, returning to his usual human self. But the convulsions were still happening. Slowing down, but not stopping. It reminded Stiles of...Erica...back in the gym...with the rock wall...

 

“Stiles!” cried out Scott.

 

He whipped around again, this time in the direction of his best friend's voice. To be honest...he should've kept his eyes on Parrish. Because forming a half circle around him, smoke billowing from their shoulders and heads, was the every single Rider that had invaded the school-train station. They bore their empty sockets at him, this sensation of rage rolling off of them.

 

Time slowed once again.

 

Out of pure fear.

 

“Do something!” Hayden's voice slurred in his head.

 

“Use your bird scream!” Mason suggested, his voice also slurred.

 

How? It didn't do anything before. Just scared them. What would it do now?

 

“You're a perfect mimic, Stiles.” hissed Derek, the only voice clear and moving at full speed through his ears. “ _Mimic_!”

 

Mimic. Right. But what to mimic? What would any of his mimic abilities do? The Banshee scream, raven feather, and hellhound fire did nothing! They were still here! Sure, they had smoke -

 

Wait...

 

Smoke.

 

They never had smoke before.

 

Maybe it _had_ worked but...

 

A piece was missing. Argent said he remembered the three items needed to banish The Hunt, but that he wasn't one hundred percent sure with the memory. What if he had forgotten one more item? Or maybe he got the item needed from the raven wrong?

 

Either way...Stiles' mind snapped to and he felt his hands move.

 

Felt them mimic the same way Lydia's hands had been before she directed her scream.

 

His eyes burned and his skin was pricked in that same old uncomfortable feeling he was getting used to now as he shifted. This time, however, he felt rows of feathers rise with his hair – a bird ruffled and defensive. He took a deep breath, watching the crowd of Riders bow their heads, like they were accepting defeat. Then, in the same way he saw Lydia move her arms, he moved his own, curling his talons in a gripping motion...and screamed. This one was louder than all the others he had unleashed today. Vibrated the floors. Rattled the windows and doors. He could picture everyone covering their ears, shielding themselves from the dangerously pitched noise.

 

The Riders in unison leaned back, like they were poorly copying The Matrix. One by one, they disintegrated into piles of sand. It was a hypnotizing sight. Watching bodies turn into grains of gray sand, fluttering around before becoming a pile on the floor. Once there were countless piles, the grains swirled around as if they were trying to form a dust devil. They grew to an impressive size before they evaporated into the void. With them, the train station invading the school slinked out the door like a serpent.

 

No earth trembling with the exit.

 

No ear splitting cries of agony.

 

Nothing.

 

Only a peaceful and almost relaxing departure.

 

That was it.

 

It was over.

 

“Intense...” Mason whispered, finally able to utter words after who knows how long of silence.

 

With that, the pack erupted into relieved sighs and chuckles. No one really moved. Just remained where they were and allowed themselves to celebrate in their own way. Which mostly consisted of more sighs, hands rubbing faces, and tired glances.

 

Stiles sat himself on the floor as Parrish ceased convulsing and started to wake. He could hear Lydia tearfully say the deputy's name, as well as her name being said back to her in confusion. Kira and Derek joined him – Kira resting her forehead on his shoulder, and Derek digging his nose against his throat. Stiles hummed, staring at the ceiling.

 

It was over.

 

The Wild Hunt was gone. They couldn't come back to Beacon Hills for centuries. Hopefully when they were all long gone from here or the world. Because this? Again? No thank you! In fact, no more of anything supernatural for a while. A vacation was definitely well warranted.

 

“You're back...” breathed Derek. “You're real...”

 

It was at that moment that Stiles realized that the wolf was crying – the tears falling onto his skin. He smiled warmly, bringing his hand up to tap his ear. His little habit to let Derek know that he was going to touch him. After the tap, he slipped his now normal fingers into the wolf's hair, scratching faintly at the scalp.

 

“I'm back...” he whispered back. “I'm real. Very _very_ real...”

 


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two months of stressing out over not getting this beast done before the end of Sterek Bingo, of not thinking it was interesting enough or anyone would even want to read it...and it ends here. ;_; 
> 
> Honestly, thanks to everyone that stuck around for every chapter! I know, it was a bit of a monster. Not as big as some others, but it was definitely a monster. You all are awesome, and I hope that the final chapter on the season 6A fix is as good as the rest of the beast. :3
> 
> Once again...THANK YOU!!!!!! 
> 
> Enjoy! <3

Derek woke up on a Thursday feeling off. Like something was missing. It...ached.

 

That is, until he smelled the delectable scent of bacon sneaking up the stairs.

 

And heard the happy sounds of someone trying to sing under their breath.

 

The wolf grinned, rubbing at his eyes and stretching out his body till his back popped. It was nice to know that Stiles used his free day to get up early and make them breakfast. A pleasant surprise, too. It usually took a mighty battle, with claws and talons, to get him to even go to work at four in the afternoon. And Stiles _loved_ his job! Definitely a lovely surprise.

 

Derek laid there, staring at the skylight he had installed into the house, feeling his chest swell. Just...swell. In all honesty...he never expected to be this happy in his entire life. Not since the fire. But here he was, unable to stop himself from smiling over the simple fact that Stiles was cooking them breakfast. _Breakfast_!

 

How did he even get here?

 

Oh. Right. The Wild Hunt.

 

Guess he should thank them in some way.

 

If they hadn't taken Stiles...well...things wouldn't have fallen into place.

 

After the showdown with The Hunt, it was time for damage control. Everyone that had fled from the bench-pews when The Hunt announced their presence were found down the hall of the school. Every single last one of them, including Peter, were unconscious. It was a lot of back and forth in multiple cars to the hospital to make sure that there were no lasting injuries, or anything else that could be wrong. Fortunately, the only thing wrong with everyone was the fact that they didn't remember a single thing. Saved the pack lots of grief.

 

Life went about as usual. School continued. The sheriff and Melissa went back to work. Argent went back to hunting under the code his daughter created. And Derek...well...

 

He stayed in Beacon Hills, taking refuge in the guest bedroom of the Stilinski residence. He quit his job back in Jackson Hole, paid his rent, and told his landlord that he would be moving out near the end of May. When Stiles got wind of Derek uprooting his life from a place that was doing him good, he confronted him with worried lined across his entire being. To which, well, he smiled. Genuinely _smiled_. And squeezed at the raven's shoulder firmly.

 

“I figured that you would like some control lessons. You looked like you needed it.”

 

Stiles didn't believe it for one minute, but he didn't challenge it. Nor did he complain. Okay...he _did_ complain. But that was because he didn't approve of Derek waking him up during the weekend to do control lessons. However, once they got on a roll in the training sessions (back at the abandoned train station he had trained his betas in), Stiles ceased his whines and dove right in with everything he had.

 

Lessons were _always_ intense.

 

The raven gave the wolf a run for his money. Nearly knocking him on his ass every time. And the amount of stealth was _astounding_. It got to the point where Derek couldn't hear Stiles at all! Even Scott, when he decided to come (sometimes with everyone in the pack, including the sheriff), couldn't hear Stiles! It was definitely a skill to be feared by their enemies.

 

The mimic ability was the only thing that topped the stealth. Seeing Stiles mirroring him, or Parrish when they brought him along, (Guy was curious. They weren't going to deny him a chance to train with them.) move for move was...eerie. His eyes would flicker between whiskey and blood-violet, sometimes pure black, when he was mimicking. At one point...they matched Derek's eyes. That...electric, cold, ice blue.

 

That was the lesson where Stiles pinned Derek to the ground with talons poised to strike.

 

That was the lesson where Derek yanked him down to his level and kissed him.

 

To his surprise, Stiles kissed him back. Not eagerly, but softly. Tenderly. As if he was mapping out Derek's soul through this kiss. It made him light headed and blissed out. So much so that when they stopped kissing, he blurted out, “I love you” in a breathless voice.

 

Stiles grinned wide, peppering his face, the beard getting the most loved, with kissed. Breathing back, “You too, big bad. I love you, too.”

 

For some reason, Derek expected their relationship to become a whirlwind after that. But it didn't. It was as if nothing had changed. With the exception of Stiles crawling into bed with him at night, the astronomical amounts of cuddles that boy demanded, tender kisses, and playful hand holding. And the smiles. Stiles gave him a lot of over the moon smiles. For a while, Derek was confused. He was wondering if things were...wrong...between them. Reading his mind, Stiles tackled him into the decrepit train during a session and kissed the ever living hell out of him.

 

“Just because we aren't having sex or acting like a lovey-dovey couple doesn't mean anything is wrong with us.” he growled, eyes flashing. “That's not all of what relationships should be built on. It _should_ be built on trust and communication. There are other things, but those two are a _huge_ foundation.” He stopped with the heated kisses, grinning smugly. “Besides...I've fallen out of lust with you a long time ago. Which gave me time to fall properly in love with you. But you could always make me end over ass some more. I'll try to do the same on my end.”

 

It was an eye opener for the wolf. The words flooded his head through the rest of the day. And when night fell, he went into Stiles' room, where they slept in there for the night. But not till after they had a long conversation in hushed whispers, and a long overdue round of scenting.

 

Two weeks before graduation...the pack gathered at the McCall residence to open up acceptance letters.

 

Stiles was accepted into the University Of San Francisco. For psychology.

 

Scott and Kira had been accepted into Davis, relieved that they could go to school together.

 

Lydia was accepted into MIT. As a junior, no less.

 

Malia didn't apply anywhere, wanting to take a year break to travel with her adopted father. When she decided to go, she would go to a community college until she figured out what she wanted to go to school for, or if she wanted to even go forward with more schooling. If she did, she was going to get financial help from Derek. No ifs, ands, or buts about it. She was his cousin, one of his only family members left – she was going to be helped out.

 

After the letters had been opened, there was a huge celebratory BBQ at the park. Everyone's parents were there. Some of the hospital staff that knew Scott and Stiles well were there. Half of the sheriff's station was there. _Cora_ even came down to celebrate, announcing that she was going to school up at San Bernardino. Which was a huge shock because Derek had no idea that she was thinking of school. Full of surprises, that one.

 

Near the end of the day, when the BBQ was slowing and a lot of those over twenty-one were drinking beers, Argent showed up with a surprise guest: _Isaac_. He was mousy, but looked healthy. _Happy_. Stiles gave Derek the nudge he needed to greet Isaac with a hug and a fervent apology. The sigh of relief and grin his former beta gave him lifted the weight off his shoulders. Like all was forgiven at last.

 

Isaac bled into the new pack well. Same with Cora. It was as if they had always belonged. As if they all belonged together. As if nothing had happened. They all chatted and joked and teased with no restraint. There may have been a minor food fight that resulted in one of the deputies scolding the sheriff as they drove by the park.

 

It was a fantastic night. A breath of fresh air.

 

A week before graduation, Derek took Cora and Isaac with him to gather up his belongings from Jackson Hole. Stiles pouted and whined about not going, but he turned that attitude around when Derek admitted that he had a present for him when he came back. During the entire move, Stiles tried to weasel out of him what the present was with every phone call.

 

“You have to wait, Stiles. It's...it's special. I've been planning it for a long time now.”

 

“But I wanna know what it is _now_!”

 

“How does it feel to want?”

 

“Oh, haha. Big Bad Wolf's got some jokes. Fine. I'll wait. But I'll complain about it the entire time!”

 

“I am not surprised.”

 

“It better be worth all this torture.”

 

“It will be.”

 

“All right. I trust ya.”

 

Derek beamed, ducking his head and bit at his lip. “Stiles?”

 

“Yeah, Der?”

 

“Love you.”

 

“Awww! I love you, too, ya big puppy.”

 

At the end of all the calls, either Cora would snort and roll her eyes, muttering about how stupid they were, or Isaac would smirk and nudge at him, asking over and over how this whole thing developed. Either way...they gave him some type of grief.

 

And he wouldn't have it any other way.

 

Once everything was all set, Cora tearing up over how proud she was of her big brother and Isaac timidly asking if he could visit when he wasn't traveling around Europe again, they went back to Beacon Hills once more. They arrived early the morning of graduation at the Stilinski home, Cora crashing in the guest room and Isaac passing out on the couch. Derek made his way to Stiles' room, quietly sneaking in. He sat down in Stiles' desk chair, sliding it towards the bed. Then, ever so gently, he shook Stiles until he woke up.

 

“Hmmm? Wha? Der?” He smiled sleepily, rubbing at his eyes. “Hey, babe. What's up?”

 

Derek stared for a moment, drinking this in. If things went his way, if life actually gave him the break he deserved, he would wake up to this every single day. Until death do them part.

 

“I have your present.”

 

The raven bolted up, suddenly very awake. Very excited. “You do?”

 

“Well...I have pictures of your present. I can't actually wrap it up and put a bow on it.”

 

He handed over the folder with said pictures, feeling his heart race. What if Stiles didn't like it? What if he thought that this was too soon? What if he wasn't ready? What if he said he loved it because he felt pressured? Derek felt ill and kept his gaze fixated on this yellow carpet stain he did not want to know the back story of.

 

He only jerked his head upward when he smelled the spike of...of _joy_ radiating from Stiles.

 

The raven was gaping in awe at the pictures, looking them over and over and over again. His eyes were watering and he sniffed a little. He wiped at them before finally meeting Derek's stare with this expression of...overwhelming sunshine.

 

“You bought us a house?”

 

Derek's heart crawled up into his throat, stalling his voice. So, he nodded, smiling lovingly before he could find his will to speak. “It's not too far from your school, so the drive won't suck. It used to be a firehouse, so it's spacious. And I kept the fire pole, because I know you'll want to slide down it. Maybe we could do a dance or two on it. I also installed a skylight so that we can see the night sky in our bedroom. We also own it...so...”

 

“ _We_ own it?”

 

“Yeah. Your name is on the lease. It, um...I wrote our names down as...as Derek and Mieczsław Stilinski-Hale. Is that...is that okay?”

 

A wicked smirk crossed those bow lips. “Are you gonna put a ring on it?”

 

That took the wolf by complete surprise. He felt his face grow hot as he answered meekly, “I want to...eventually...”

 

Stiles chuckled, making himself home on Derek's lap, wrapping his arms around his neck and rested their foreheads together. “Whether you were going to or not...it doesn't bother me in the slightest.”

 

Graduation happened later that day. Stiles and Derek informed the pack about their exciting news. The sheriff demanded to come down when they were moving Stiles' things to see it. The pack, especially Scott with pout and all, demanded to have Thanksgiving there this year. Cora and Isaac were bragging about how they already saw the place, and how they claimed the best rooms.

 

And the rest...well...it was history.

 

Now, two months after Stiles' classes started, and three after he got his job as a tour guide at Alcatraz, they were here. Derek lying in bed, drinking in the scent of the breakfast that Stiles was making them. If he could tell the version of himself that was terrified, alone, and tripping over his feet that existed a few years back that _this_ would be his life...he would not be the least bit surprised if that version scoffed at him. Because it truly did sound too good to be true.

 

It was a great thing that it was all good and all true.

 

Finally, after his wolf started bouncing around with glee, Derek rolled out of bed. He slipped on some clothes begrudgingly, not wanting to be scolded for attempting to eat naked at the table for the _fourth time_ this week, and padded down the stairs. Bacon was all he could smell, despite how strong Stiles' scent of sweet spices and the sky before rain fell had become. He let out a low groan, alerting Stiles to his presence. The raven chuckled, stealing a longing gaze for a brief moment.

 

“Good morning, starshine.” he purred, poking the bacon.

 

Derek said nothing. Just plastered himself onto Stiles' back and nuzzled at his neck. His mate chuckled again, reaching back and tapped his cheek before raking his fingers through the dark hair.

 

“Sleep well?”

 

“Mmmhmm.”

 

“I would hope so. You snored like a bear.”

 

The wolf pouted, playfully nipping at his mate's neck. It would be a lie if he said that he wasn't preening over the little yip that was the response. “I don't snore.”

 

“Uh, yeah you do. When you are deeply asleep, you snore. _Loud_. Just like I drool when I sleep deeply. _A lot_.”

 

Again, he nipped at his raven's neck. This time, Stiles whipped around and tugged at his hair playfully.

 

“Oi! No biting the hand that's feeding you today!”

 

Derek grinned deviously, sliding his hands around Stiles' hips. “Oh? You're going to hand feed me today?”

 

Stiles blinked, confused. That is, until those gears creaked and groaned and he realized what he said. His face went bright red, and he swatted at his wolf's shoulder while laughing like a hundred bell chimes. “Not when you keep biting me, you heathen!”

 

“Oh. Well...what if I...do...this...?”

 

Derek pouted. Added a little canine whine to make it more dramatic. This caused Stiles to throw his head back and laugh so loud that Derek winced a little.

 

“I'm gonna burn our bacon, you dingus.”

 

“Fine fine. Want me to help with anything?”

 

“Since you're offering...wanna get started on the hashbrowns?”

 

This...this was Derek's new life. Stiles' new life. _Their_ new life.

 

Never in a million years would either of them think that they would be this in love with life. This eager to cook breakfast side-by-side each other. Waking up next to each other every day. Fighting with homework almost every night. Bickering about stupid things, then turning right around and cuddling while apologizing profusely. Having someone understand them. Having someone appreciate them.

 

Smiling till their faces hurt.

 

Once they finished making breakfast, they collapsed into giggles onto the couch, throwing out ideas of what they could do on Stiles' day off from classes _and_ once in a blue moon day off from work. This went on for a while, both bantering about why their ideas were better than the others. Then, when their plates were empty, Derek laid his head in Stiles' lap, staring up at the man that turned his world upside down with eyes hooded in tenderness.

 

“Whatcha looking at, Mr. Galaxy Eyes?”

 

“You. Just you.”

 

“Oh yeah?” Stiles set their plates aside, carding both set of fingers through the wolf's hair. “Why are you looking at me?”

 

“Do I need a reason?”

 

“Naw. But you can make up one.”

 

Derek thought about it, humming a bit. Then, he broke into an ear splitting grin. “I made up one.”

 

“Lay it on me, big guy.”

 

He licked his lips, taking one of the hands out of his hair and kissed it. “Because you're here. Because you're real.”

 

Stiles snorted, shaking his head. But he was beaming fondly. Lovingly. He leaned forward, connecting their foreheads and closing his eyes. “I'm here. I'm real. I'm very, _very_ real. And so are you.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Talk Sterek with me!
> 
> youfancymemaddearie.tumblr.com
> 
>  
> 
> Check out the Bingo!!!
> 
> sterek-bingo.tumblr.com


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